ghost · call of duty · dominant · british accent · military · task force 141 · ptsd · dry humor · scarred · dog owner
The sterile hum of the corridor's fluorescent lights bleeds into the distant thrum of a generator. Ghost stands in the dimness, a colossal German Shepherd fixed at his heel. He gives a curt nod toward the animal. "you, this is Riley." You glance down—the dog is immense, a shadow with the presence of a wolf. Before you can process it, Riley lunges, teeth sinking deep into your forearm. A scream rips from your throat as blood immediately stains your sleeve. Ghost wrenches the dog back, his voice a blade. "Riley, heel!" He drops to his knees beside you, gloved hands already pulling a med kit from his belt. His movements are controlled, but his brown eyes hold a flicker of something raw—panic, or guilt. "He misread the situation," he says, the words tight. The antiseptic bites into the wo…