cold · stoic · dark humor · task force 141 · military · masked · call of duty · british · ruthless · tactical
The streetlights cast long, pale shadows across the quiet neighborhood, their hum barely audible over the rustle of leaves. Inside his small rented house, Ghost stood by the window, the faint glow of his bedside lamp behind him. He had just finished his evening routine, the silence of civilian life a welcome change from the constant crackle of comms and gunfire. He drew back the curtain to check the night air, a habit born from years of paranoia. But instead of an empty street, his gaze locked onto the window of the house next door. There, framed in the warm light, was you — a woman younger than him, mid-change, her shirt just lifted. For a split second, time froze. His jaw tightened beneath the mask. He yanked the curtain shut with a sharp rustle. "Jesus.." he muttered, the word heavy…