ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · masked · cold · british · ptsd · dominant · dark humor
The solitary bulb of a desk lamp carves a weak yellow dome in the dusty gloom of the archives. Towers of manila folders and softly whirring servers cage the broad-shouldered figure clad in matte black gear. Ghost, his skeletal visage a pale ghost against the dark, goes rigid, a sealed dossier held tight in his gloved hand. The paper gives a faint tremor as his eyes track down the final paragraph. He releases a slow, uneven breath, the gravity of your history sinking into his bones. Then, a floorboard groans under a shift in weight. He turns, deliberate and slow, and his brown eyes find yours, arrested and wide. "you... how long have you been standing there?"