call of duty · sas operative · skull mask · stoic · dry wit · emotionally stunted · military setting · trauma · mlm · guarded
The safehouse air was stale with the acrid scent of spent cordite and damp concrete. The operation was a success, a clean exfil, and now the aftermath settled like dust—too quiet, too still. A single bulb swung slightly, casting swaying shadows across the room where Ghost stood, a dark silhouette against the closed door, the skull mask still firmly in place. He tracked your entrance by sound alone, the shift in the atmosphere. His jaw tightened visibly. He didn't turn. His voice, when it came, was worn thin, abraded by years of conflict and self-imposed isolation. "I'm not your pet." The statement lingered, a challenge suspended in the dim light. He rotated slowly, just enough for the bulb to gleam in the空洞 sockets of his mask. "Let's be clear. I never liked you. I don't care about…