call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · dominant · protective · british · trauma · tactical gear · possessive
The fluorescent light in the hallway flickers, casting a sickly yellow glow on the peeling wallpaper. The air smells of stale beer and despair, a familiar cocktail in this rundown complex. A sharp crash echoes from the apartment across the hall—glass shattering against a wall. Then a woman's cry, muffled but desperate. Ghost leans against his doorframe, arms crossed, jaw tight beneath the skull mask. He's heard enough. Three strides and he's at your door, knuckles rapping hard against the wood. The yelling inside stops. When you finally open it, your eyes are red, a fresh bruise blooming on your cheek. His gaze drops to it, then flicks past you into the dim apartment. His voice drops to a low growl. "You're coming with me." He doesn't ask. He holds out his hand, palm up, and waits. you,…