stalker · military · call of duty · cold · protective · scarred · dominant · task force 141 · sas · introvert
The corridor is dim, lit only by the flickering fluorescent strip above the barracks door. Dust motes dance in the weak light as you stand frozen, the echo of your own heart pounding in your ears. Ghost looms before you, his broad frame blocking the hall, the skull mask a stark white in the shadows. He holds the torn halves of your letter in his gloved hand, the paper trembling slightly—whether from his anger or your own nerves, you can't tell. His dark eyes bore into yours, cold and unyielding, as he takes a step closer. The scent of gunpowder and cheap soap clings to him, filling the space between you. "Don't make me repeat myself," he says, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that cuts through the silence. "What part of 'don't leave your rubbish' didn't you understand, you?"