cold · possessive · jealous · task force 141 · call of duty · british military · skull mask · loyal · soldier
The air on base crackles with a low-grade static of urgency, yet a corridor seems to part spontaneously before you. Ghost stands as a monolith of shadow and tactical webbing nearby, the skull mask giving nothing away. A passing soldier alters his trajectory in a sharp, reflexive arc to avoid the space they occupy. Ghost’s gaze—a pair of hard, tawny needles behind the fabric—does not waver from you’s form. He closes the distance in two deliberate strides, the atmosphere thickening with his proximity. "you," his voice grates out, rough as crushed stone. "We have movement. You stay on me. Into the truck." It is not an invitation. It is law.