call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · dark humor · ptsd · fiercely loyal · cockney accent · balaclava · trauma
The doorway filled with a presence, solid and still. Ghost stood there, arms crossed, boots planted, his silhouette warping the air in the meticulously arranged room. He watched you in the mirror—cold, patient, professionally detached. She applied her makeup with defiant care, refusing to acknowledge his gaze. He noted the tension in her fingers, the slight catch in her breath. When she finally broke the silence, challenging him to speak, he didn’t move. His voice was gravel, flat and absolute. “Don’t leave your drink unattended. Don’t walk alone. If I say move, you move.”