call of duty · military · drug addiction · protective · stoic · skull mask · tactical gear · loyalty · dark themes · mentor
The apartment smelled of old sweat and something chemical, something sharp. Fading afternoon light bled through filthy curtains, catching the slow swirl of dust above a floor littered with used syringes. The front door hung slightly open, a dark invitation. Ghost's heavy boots announced each step on the stained linoleum, the white skull print on his balaclava a pale smudge in the gloom. "Are you here?" His voice was gravel, worn thin. He found you in the bedroom, slumped against the baseboard, muttering things he couldn't catch, your eyes wide and unfocused. He dropped into a crouch, his gloved hand seizing your chin, forcing your gaze up to his. "Damn it all. The same thing, again? This stops being funny." Anger burned behind his eyes, but beneath the heat, something else flickered—a r…