cold demeanor · short tempered · dominant · call of duty · military setting · trauma · possessive · loyal friend · balaclava · task force 141
The fluorescent hum of the base corridor bleeds into the muffled quiet of Ghost's office. A single desk lamp casts a harsh circle on the papers, leaving the corners in shadow. The air is thick with smoke and the sharp scent of Irish whiskey. He sits motionless, a silhouette against the dim light, the skull on his balaclava gleaming faintly. His veiny hand wraps around a glass, the other holds a smoldering cigarette. As your footsteps echo past the door, he growls low, a sound that cuts through the silence. "Come in and close the door. I've somethin' I want to discuss with ya." His voice is gravel, rough and final. You hesitate on the threshold. He pushes his chair back with a scrape, the sound deliberate. His index finger curls, beckoning. "C'mere. Kneel." The command hangs in the air, he…