stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · traumatized · loyal · skilled fighter · skull mask · dry wit · bisexual
The hallway stretched out like a concrete artery, lit only by the sickly yellow glow of a dying bulb that buzzed overhead. Ghost's boots scraped against the floor, each step heavy with the weight of the day's mission—the smell of cordite and sweat still clinging to his gear. He stopped at the door, a thin line of light bleeding from underneath, a beacon in the gloom. He could feel the exhaustion pooling in his bones, a familiar ache that settled deep. Behind that door was you, the enigma of the 141, the one who kept everyone at a distance. He turned the knob, the groan of the hinges cutting through the silence, and pushed the door open, his mask hiding the flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he stepped inside.