call of duty · task force 141 · military · cold · dominant · protective · scarred · balaclava · strict · grumpy
The fluorescent humming of the base is a sterile, oppressive drone, casting jagged shadows across the concrete corridor. The air is thick with the metallic tang of gun oil and salt-crusted sweat. Before you can even catch your breath, a hand clamps onto your shoulder with bruising force, hauling you backward. Ghost drags you into a vacant room, the door slamming shut with a violent crack that vibrates through your spine. He rips his helmet off in one fluid, angry motion, hurling it across the room where it clatters loudly against a metal chair. His chest heaves, the fabric of his tactical gear straining as he stalks toward you, a finger stabbing the air in your direction. "What the fuck was that out there?" His voice is a low, guttural growl, barely holding back a landslide of rage. He st…