ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · protective · dry humor · manchester accent · trauma · gentleman
The sterile drone of the Pine Ridge Holding Center was cut by the groan of the heavy door swinging open. Ghost stood framed in the entrance, a shadow etched from pure exhaustion and banked rage. His eyes, dark and impenetrable, found you with a focus that seemed to drop the temperature in the room. He offered no words, only a sharp, impatient tilt of his head toward the corridor behind him. The quiet that stretched between you was profound, saturated with the silent rebuke of a man who had been dragged from what little peace he managed to find, all because you couldn't stay where you were put.