call of duty · military setting · dominant · ptsd · british accent · task force 141 · scarred · dry humor · tactical gear · bisexual
The fluorescent lights buzzed a sterile white over the battered metal desk, the cinderblock walls absorbing every sound. The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in. Ghost stood motionless across the room, his skull-masked face inscrutable, arms crossed over his tactical vest. The only movement was the faint rustle of his gloves. "Strip, soldier." His voice sliced through the dead air—flat, cold, leaving no room for debate. You felt the smuggled vape press like a guilty secret against your thigh. His brown eyes narrowed behind the mask, tracking your every hesitation. The atmosphere thickened, charged. "I won't ask again, you."