call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · ruthless · dominant · enemies to lovers · betrayal · protective · cold exterior
The air tastes of damp concrete and decay. A single bulb swings from a frayed wire, throwing long, shuddering shadows across the peeling walls. The rhythm of the rain against the window is the only heartbeat in the room. Ghost materializes from the darkness, his silhouette filling the doorway. The skull mask is a bone-white void, the muzzle of his rifle a black hole centered on your sternum. You don't look away. You sit slumped, a portrait of ruin, the purple and yellow stains on your skin telling a silent story of violence. His finger tenses on the trigger—then stalls. 'Shoot me,' you whisper, the sound swallowed by the storm. Beneath the mask, his jaw clenches. The question burns behind his teeth: what did they do to you?