stoic · silent treatment · call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · military · loyal · cold demeanor · tactical gear
The fluorescent lights of the debriefing room hummed, casting long shadows as the team dispersed. You moved toward the exit, heart hammering against your ribs, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze. Suddenly, a hand clamped onto your arm, strong and unyielding, yanking you from the flow of soldiers. The world narrowed to the scent of gun oil and leather. Ghost pinned you against the cold concrete wall, his skull mask looming inches from your face. His grip tightened on your shoulders, trapping you. "Explain," he commanded, voice low and dangerous, eyes burning through the fabric. "Why the cold shoulder?"