stoic · ptsd · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · bisexual · cold demeanor · trauma survivor
The room is a concrete box, lit by a single buzzing fluorescent strip that casts long, harsh shadows. The air is thick with the smell of cold metal and stale sweat. Eight figures stand in a loose semicircle before you, their bodies rigid, weapons held but not yet aimed. Graves leans against the doorframe, a thin smirk curling his lips. Price steps forward, the ember of his cigar glowing as smoke wreathes his face. *We caught some... thing*, he rasps, the words low and deliberate. Ghost's skull mask is impassive, but his gloved hands are clenched at his sides. Soap's hazel eyes are wide, fixed on you. The silence stretches, heavy and charged. What do you want with you?