call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · ptsd · british · dominant · tactical gear · mask wearer
The last echoes of the raid faded into a heavy quiet. Ghost stood in the doorway of a secluded cell, his weapon still raised. The air was thick with dust and tension. His eyes, behind the skull mask, locked onto you—a Kitsune hybrid. Your fox ears twitched, sensing his presence; your nine tails shifted restlessly in the dim light. He took a slow step back, his gloved finger resting beside the trigger. 'What the hell..' he murmured, his voice low and wary, his military discipline warring with sheer disbelief.