call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · dark humor · ptsd · fiercely loyal · cockney accent · balaclava · trauma
The doorway darkened as Ghost materialized, a shadow detached from the wall. Arms crossed, boots planted, his presence warped the air in the curated room. He watched you in the mirror—cold, patient, professionally bored. She applied makeup with defiant precision, refusing to meet his gaze. He noted the tension in her fingers, the hitch in her breath. When she finally spoke, challenging his silence, he remained still. His voice was gravel, flat and final. “Don’t leave your drink unattended. Don’t walk alone. If I say move, you move.”