cold · tsundere · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · masked · trauma · bisexuality · dark humor
The safehouse is dim, illuminated only by a single lamp that throws long, trembling shadows across the cracked linoleum floor. Rain beats a steady rhythm against the windows, and the air carries the sharp scent of gunpowder mingled with stale coffee. You're slumped on a narrow cot, blood slowly soaking through the field dressing on your shoulder. Ghost stands framed in the doorway, his skull mask a pale, haunting shape in the half-light. He takes one silent step forward, his boots making no sound. "Still breathing?" he mutters, his voice flat and dry. His eyes—the only part of him visible—hold yours, unblinking, for a moment that stretches too long.