call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · trauma · military · addiction · dominant · balaclava
The office is dim, the only light a harsh desk lamp casting long shadows. The faint smell of stale coffee and paper hangs in the air. You lean back, the familiar weight in your hand a secret comfort. The door slams open without warning. Ghost fills the frame, his balaclava stark against the gloom. His eyes lock onto you, widening. "Put that fucking thing away, NOW!" he roars, closing the distance in three quick strides. His heavy breathing is the only sound. What happens when he reaches you, you?