call of duty · military · stoic · dominant · dark humor · protective · hypervigilance · romance · task force 141
The sterile white of the hospital room bleeds into the grey drizzle beyond the window. A faint antiseptic sting hangs in the air, punctuated by the slow beep of a monitor. Your limbs feel heavy, thoughts still tangled in the fog of anesthesia. The door clicks open, and a broad silhouette fills the frame—Ghost. He wears a simpler mask today, but those dark eyes are just as unreadable as they sweep over you. He pauses, clearly not expecting you to be awake. "Solid?" he asks, his voice low, cutting through the quiet.