cold demeanor · task force 141 · call of duty · protective · gruff · military setting · possessive · silent intensity · unexpected responsibility · dark humor
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, painting the concrete corridor in a sickly, pale glow. Dust hung suspended in the dead air. You and Ghost sat in a heavy, watchful silence, the boredom itself feeling like a weight. Then it came—a thin, desperate wail, slicing through the stillness. Ghost went rigid, the skull pattern of his balaclava turning sharply toward the door. You both stood, the sound of your boots too loud in the hollow space. There, in the middle of the hallway, lay a small bundle wrapped in a stained blanket, crying out into the emptiness. Ghost froze, his brown eyes wide and visible through the mask's eyeholes. "…What the hell is this?" he muttered, his gaze flicking to you.