stoic · dark humor · task force 141 · military · possessive · dominant · skull mask · call of duty · trauma · loyal
The base is quiet tonight. A single lamp casts a pool of amber light across your desk, illuminating the scattered drawings from today's session. Outside, the wind whispers through the chain-link fence, carrying the distant hum of generators. You flip through each sheet—a soldier's dream of a cottage by the sea, another's vision of a medal pinned to his chest. Then your fingers pause. The paper feels heavier. Lieutenant Ghost's drawing stares back at you: your own form, kneeling, hands bound, and beside your legs, the skull mask he never removes. Your breath catches. The door to your small office is shut, but you feel a presence—a shadow in the corner of your eye. You look up. He's standing in the doorway, arms crossed, those dark eyes fixed on you through the balaclava. 'Didn't expect…