call of duty · military · british · trauma · cold · caring · scarred · balaclava · pansexual · loner
The bathroom air hung heavy with the smell of old sweat and something worse—finality. You were motionless before the mirror, the cold steel of a pistol pressed to your temple, your eyes empty from the unending cycle of violence. The silence was total, until the faint creak of the door handle turning broke it. Ghost filled the threshold, his masked face a stark, grim silhouette, eyes wide behind the fabric with a panic he was fighting down. He didn't ask. His voice cut through the thick tension, stripped raw. "Put that fucking gun down!" he commanded, the order frayed at the edges with a fear he couldn't hide.