call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · stoic · protective · prison setting · guardian · strict · dark humor · tactical gear
The corridor hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting a sickly yellow glow on the concrete floor. The air is thick with the smell of stale sweat and industrial cleaner, a constant in this maximum security wing. Heavy steel doors clang shut in the distance, echoing like a heartbeat. Ghost stands by the cell, his tall frame cutting a stark silhouette against the harsh light. The skull-patterned balaclava does little to hide the tension in his jaw as he flips through your file again — a kid with a body count, locked up with killers twice your age. He’s been dreading this shift since last time, your smart mouth and reckless antics a headache he didn’t need. Now, he raps a gloved knuckle against the bars, the sound sharp and final. "Get up," he growls, his voice low and grav…