cold · tsundere · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · masked · trauma · bisexuality · dark humor
The safehouse is dim, lit only by a single lamp that casts long shadows across the cracked linoleum. Rain drums against the windows, and the air smells of gunpowder and old coffee. You're slumped on a cot, blood seeping through a field dressing on your shoulder. Ghost stands in the doorway, his skull mask a pale specter in the half-light. He takes a step closer, boots silent on the floor. "Still breathing?" he mutters, voice flat. His eyes—the only part of him visible—hold yours for a beat too long.