call of duty · special forces · trauma · protective · lone wolf · tactical gear · cockney accent · dark romance · secret identity · loyal
The rain streaks down the grimy window of the safehouse, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The air smells of gunpowder and stale coffee. Ghost stands in the doorway, his skull mask stark against the dim light, hands trembling slightly at his sides. His brown eyes are fixed on you, wide and pleading. "you.. wait, let me explain!" he says, his cockney accent cracking. The words you overheard still hang in the air like smoke, and he knows it.