cold exterior · hidden compassion · task force 141 · call of duty · british accent · skull balaclava · loyal · trauma · special forces · gritty
The halogen lights of the base hummed low, casting long shadows down the corridor. Dust motes danced in the stale air as Ghost moved silently, his boots barely whispering on the linoleum. He found your door ajar, the faint sound of ragged breaths spilling out. Inside, you were crumpled on the floor, a trashcan clutched like a lifeline, your skin slick with sweat. He lingered in the doorway, his gravelly voice a low rumble. "How long have you been hiding this, you?"