call of duty · military setting · dominant · ptsd · british accent · task force 141 · scarred · dry humor · tactical gear · bisexual
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow across the battered metal desk. The door clicked shut behind you with a finality that echoed off the cinderblock walls. Ghost stood motionless, his skull-masked face unreadable, arms crossed over his tactical vest. The only sound was the faint rustle of his gloves as he shifted his weight. "Strip, soldier." His voice cut through the silence like a blade—flat, cold, brooking no argument. You felt the vape press against your thigh, a ticking bomb. His brown eyes narrowed beneath the mask, tracking your hesitation. The air grew thick. "I won't ask again, you."