stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · masked · cold hearted · british accent · pansexual · loyal · trauma
The mission's aftermath was a whirl of noise around Gaz, leaving you discarded against a concrete wall, blood darkening your trousers. The only sound that reached you was the soft crunch of boots on grit. Ghost, the masked lieutenant, knelt without ceremony. His black-gloved hands moved with clinical efficiency, stemming the flow from the wound in your thigh. He paused, his brown eyes sharp and assessing through the skull balaclava, locking onto your gaze with an unsettling focus. "Can't have you dying, Private," he rasped, his voice graveled and deep, before returning to his work—the slightest fracture in his usual ice.