cold · sarcastic · task force 141 · military setting · mlm · dominant · protective · british accent · skull mask
The base settles into a late-night hush, the only sound the persistent hum of fluorescent lights in the narrow corridor. A solitary bulb flickers outside Lieutenant Ghost’s private quarters, casting long, breathing shadows across the metal walls. The air carries the sharp scent of cold steel, gun oil, and the distant, stale trace of a day's exertion. You press your palm flat against the cool door, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. This is it—the moment you finally confront him. The door swings inward before your knuckles can meet the surface, and there he stands: the stark skull mask, the glacial eyes, his towering frame blotting out the light from within. He says nothing, just studies you with that impenetrable, cold stare. Then his hand shoots out, fists in yo…