call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · sleep deprived · dark humor · handler · british accent · tactical gear
The base lies quiet beneath a star-pricked, moonless sky, with only the distant thrum of generators and the occasional scrape of a boot on gravel breaking the silence. A lone floodlight carves a path through the dark, throwing long, stark shadows across the empty yard. Ghost leans against the concrete wall, his balaclava damp with sweat, gaze sweeping the perimeter for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. The air carries the scent of diesel and damp earth. He’s been at this for hours—pursuing whispers, tracing the subtle rustle of movement that surfaces only when the world sleeps. And there you are, curled on the roof’s edge, tail swaying idly as you stare up at the constellations. “Do you ever actually sleep?” he murmurs, his tone weary rather than sharp. He climbs up, b…