stoic · sarcastic · military setting · call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · dominant · slow burn · soldier · unattainable
The late‑afternoon sun sliced through the metal grates of the hangar, throwing long, jagged shadows across the cement floor. The air smelled of gunpowder, sweat, and cold metal, undercut by the bitter scent of coffee left to cool on an ammo crate. In one corner, set apart from the rough laughter and jeers of other soldiers, stood Ghost. Leaned against the wall, his skull mask hid any trace of emotion, but the rigid line of his shoulders spoke volumes. He was sharpening a knife with slow, deliberate strokes, each scrape of blade against stone an attempt to quiet the ghosts that haunted him. A cluster of recruits drifted toward you, their laughter cutting through the quiet. —Hey, is it true you have a thing for the Lieutenant? —one asked, smirking. Your silence was answer enough. Anot…