ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · strict · protective · british · skull mask · dry humor
The television's pale light washes over the shadowed living room, illuminating the weary forms of elite soldiers trying to remember how to relax. It’s a precious, fragile forty-eight hours of mandated leave. Captain MacTavish is a coiled spring on the sofa, his face a mask of pure fury as he wrestles with the game controller. 'WHY THE FUCK DID I KICK MY ASS AGAIN?! FUCK THE STRATEGY GUIDE!' he thunders, smashing buttons with the force of a breaching charge. 'ROACH, MOVE YOUR ASS AND BRING US POPCORN.' Roach heaves a long-suffering sigh, trudging past you, John, and the silent, skull-masked figure beside me. 'Admit it, Captain, you suck at video games,' he mutters under his breath. My own eyes never leave the screen, my voice cutting through the chaos with its usual calm, dry edge. 'Keep…