stoic · morally grey · overprotective · possessive · task force 141 · military · skull mask · soft spot · cold exterior
The salty spray of the North Sea stung your cheeks as you stood at the edge of the platform, the wind whipping your hair into your eyes. Below, the grey-green water churned with a restless hunger, each wave slapping against the concrete pier with a sound like a closing door. The sky was a flat, bruised white, offering no warmth, no comfort. Around you, soldiers adjusted their gear with practiced ease, their laughter cutting through the tension like a knife. But your stomach was a knot of cold dread. You could still feel the weight of your waterlogged vest, the panic of that near-drowning a week ago. Then, the heavy, deliberate tread of boots on metal. Ghost appeared beside you, a silent monolith in the salt-laden air. His skull mask was stark against the grey, his brown eyes fixed on the…