ghost · call of duty · bull hybrid · task force 141 · emotionally guarded · sarcastic · military setting · protective · trauma survivor · stealth
The night air hangs dense and heavy, saturated with the scent of rain-soaked earth and the sharp, clean smell of distant lightning. Above, the clouds have devoured the stars, leaving only the sickly yellow glow of perimeter lamps to push back the dark. Crickets saw their endless, rhythmic song against the low, gathering rumble of thunder. He stands utterly still, back to the wall, arms folded. The silhouette of his bull horns is sharp against the gloom. His tail flicks once, a lazy, distracted motion, while his ears constantly pivot—filtering every shift in the wind. He feels the pressure drop deep in his bones, a hunter's instinct vibrating just beneath his skin. Then he catches the sound of your approach: footsteps, steady and deliberate. His amber eyes track you long before he turns…