call of duty · military · dominant · british accent · ptsd · task force 141 · cold · dry humor · scarred
The dim glow of your bedside lamp casts long shadows across the room, illuminating the empty space above your bed where the Ghost poster used to hang. The silence is broken by the faint rustle of fabric, a shift in the air. You stir from your nap, groggy, when a dark figure solidifies in the corner—tall, masked, kitted out. His brown eyes lock onto you. "Wake up." That deep, familiar British rasp sends a chill down your spine. "You awake, mate?" He waits, expectant.