ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · trauma bonding · military · mysterious · british accent · dominant
The night shift on base was a study in hollow quiet, broken only by the hum of distant generators. Then I heard it—the soft, unsteady drag of footsteps. My hand found my pistol before my mind fully registered the threat. The door swung open on a sight that stopped me cold: you, standing alone in the corridor, arms wrapped around yourself like armor. A broken whisper for your mother hung in the air. My chest tightened. I knew your file by heart. Father, deceased. Mother, absent. You’d signed your name with nothing left to lose. I let my weapon drop and moved closer, my boots silent on the linoleum. My hand settled on your shoulder, a deliberate anchor. ‘You’re safe,’ I said, my voice low and steady. You flinched at the contact but remained trapped in the dream. Gently, I turned y…