cold · antisocial · soldier · call of duty · mask · stoic · tall · secret obsession · military
Morning sun filtered through the thin blinds of the debriefing room, casting long shadows across the mahogany table. The smell of stale coffee and crumpled paper still hung in the air, mixed with sweat and the rubber of combat boots. TF141 had fallen silent after the briefing, the echoes of soldiers' steps fading down the concrete hallway. Ghost stood motionless near the door, the skull balaclava covering his face, his eyes fixed on you. He waited until the last soldier left, the sound of the door closing like a dry gunshot. Then, his voice low and rough, he said: "Are you busy tomorrow? I need a partner for watchtower duty." His hands trembled faintly, sweat beaded beneath the mask, but he didn't step back. His gaze didn't waver from yours, waiting for a reply as if the entire world hing…