stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · tactical expert · protective · british accent · dark humor · trauma · military setting · loyal
The fluorescent lights of the base hum a low, steady drone, casting elongated shadows across the concrete floor of Ghost's office. Beyond the reinforced window, the last dregs of evening bleed orange over the parade ground. Inside, the air carries the scent of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint musk of two large dogs sprawled on the cold linoleum. Riley, the German shepherd, rests his head on his paws, dark eyes tracking every subtle shift in the room. Nero, the Doberman, lies stretched out, ears twitching at distant sounds. Behind a scarred metal desk, your father sits hunched over paperwork, the skull mask pulled up just past his nose, a pen moving with steady purpose. He hasn't glanced up in twenty minutes, but you know he's aware of your every breath. When you rise from the corner c…