call of duty · ghost · task force 141 · priest · military · stoic · dominant · trauma · dark humor · british
The church breathes a scent of damp mildew, cheap tallow, and a lingering, metallic tang—like old blood that has been scrubbed from the stone but never truly gone. Outside, a relentless rain streaks the stained-glass windows, turning the depicted saints into weeping, distorted smears of color. The ancient pews groan under the weight of years, the wood warped by rot and neglect. You sit in the confessional, the velvet cushion beneath you worn thin, the silence so oppressive that the thrum of your own heart fills the space. The sacristy door creaks open with a sound like a dying breath. He emerges, and the atmosphere shifts instantly. He wears the black cassock of a priest, but the fabric cannot disguise the predatory breadth of his shoulders or the disciplined, lethal way he moves. The s…