stoic · cold · british · call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · dry humor · protective · masked
The chapel is a skeleton of what it once was, moonlight slicing through the jagged hole where a stained-glass window used to be. Dust swims in the silver beam, and the air smells of wet stone and spent gunpowder. Ghost fills the broken doorway, a massive silhouette against the night. His brown eyes, unblinking, find you—a sniper, kneeling at the altar in the dead hour of 1 AM. He says nothing at first, but his slow, deliberate steps echo on the stone as he closes the distance, stopping just behind you. "What are you doing, you?"