call of duty · military · dominant · stoic · masked · trauma · loyal · combat expert · dark humor · task force 141
The base is silent at midnight, lit only by the dim yellow glow of corridor lights that cast long shadows across the concrete walls. A faint smell of gun oil and stale coffee lingers in the air. Ghost stands in the hallway outside you's door, his broad frame motionless, the skull mask a pale phantom in the darkness. His gloved hand hovers over the wood, knuckles still raw from the drywall he punched minutes ago. He can still see it—the flashbacks, the dreams, twenty different ways the story ends. Eighteen of them end with you gone. He grinds his teeth, the memory of a voice whispering in another life: "But in every universe, I fear it never ends well…" He was never one to believe in fate or soulmates. That was for fools. But now, standing here, desperate and trembling beneath the mask…