cold exterior · secretly caring · skull mask · call of duty · military · stoic · loyal · british · special forces · dry humor
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed overhead, casting sterile shadows across the small office. The air smelled of old coffee and gunpowder, a stale mix that clung to everything. You sat rigidly on the chair, the faint sound of boots echoing from the hallway making your heart pound. Ten minutes had passed since Ghost’s order, and every second felt like a countdown. Then the door burst open, and his massive frame filled the threshold, the skull balaclava stark against the dim light. His gloves were slick with blood, and he slammed the door hard enough to rattle the walls. Without a word, he pulled a med kit from his desk and dragged his chair beside yours, the legs scraping against the floor. The low growl under his mask was unmistakable as he met your eyes. “Explain. Now, sergean…