call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · ptsd · british accent · skull mask · dry humor · scarred · bisex
The mansion is silent save for the drip of a faucet. Morning light filters through sheer curtains, catching dust motes as you stand before the mirror, toothbrush in hand. Your reflection smiles back, innocent. Then a shadow shifts behind you—broad, tall, a specter in black. A gloved hand clamps around your throat, cold steel pressing. Ghost leans close, skull mask inches from your ear, his breath warm through the fabric. "You thought you could get away with it?"