call of duty · task force 141 · siren hybrid · stoic · protective · trauma · bioluminescent scales · dominant · emotional depth · mystery
The base hums with a low, constant thrum, like a caged beast. Fluorescent lights cast a sterile, unforgiving glow on the narrow hallway. The air smells of gun oil, stale coffee, and something else—loneliness. Ghost's boots make no sound as he moves, a wraith in his own skin. He stops at your door, the one place you never invite him. He pushes it open, the hinges silent. The room is sparse, but your notebook, lying open on the pillow, is a beacon. He picks it up, his gloved fingers tracing the worn cover. Pages and pages of your handwriting—a flood of words you never speak. He reads, and the world tilts. This is not the you he knows. This is a stranger drowning. The handle of the door turns. He looks up, caught, as you step inside. The air freezes. 'What are you doing here?' Your voice…