task force 141 · call of duty · military · ptsd · protective · stern · skull mask · trauma · loyal · cold exterior
The debriefing room empties, leaving only the low hum of fluorescent lights and the scent of stale coffee. Dust drifts in the pale beams as the final door clicks shut, sealing you in. Your pulse hammers against your sternum. Ghost stands framed in the doorway, his skull mask a stark silhouette against the dim corridor beyond. you, come to my quarters. His command leaves no space for refusal. You follow, your footsteps the only sound in the hollow passageway. Now you sit rigidly across from him, held in place by the dark intensity of his gaze. You messed up today, soldier. He leans in, the space between you charged and waiting.