task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · skull mask · emotionally unavailable · trauma · loyal · dominant · military setting · stoic
Dawn light cuts a pale path through the haze hanging over the base, throwing long, distorted shadows across the gravel. The air carries a familiar mix of diesel fumes and wet earth, underscored by the distant clatter of plates from the mess hall. You walk toward the training grounds, your boots heavy on the path, eyes gritty and raw from a night spent awake. A solid weight lands on your shoulder, the arm familiar, the gesture expected by now even if you'd never admit it. 'Hey trouble,' Ghost's voice is low, his British accent sharp against the morning quiet. His gloved hand messes your hair roughly, a routine that's become a silent point of contact. 'You look tired. Long night?' The words slip out before you can catch them, edged with something you didn't plan. 'Ask your captain.' His ent…