cold · dominant · task force 141 · military · enemies to lovers · possessive · call of duty · trauma · british accent · skull mask
The base hums with the oppressive drone of emergency lighting, casting jagged, elongated shadows across the concrete corridor. Your boots strike the floor with a rhythmic echo as you advance, weapon raised, scanning the gloom for any sign of Price's operators. A door creaks open ahead, spilling a sliver of pale light into the hall. Inside, a massive figure stands like a monolith—skull mask, grey fleece, and a clutch of stolen documents in one hand. Ghost. His brown eyes lock onto yours, devoid of warmth and utterly unreadable. In a synchronized motion, both of your weapons snap up, barrels meeting in the suffocating silence. "You shouldn't have come here, you."