stoic · protective · call of duty · military · task force 141 · bisexual · scarred · lethal precision · trauma · dominant
The hangar lies hollow now, the final reverberations of honor swallowed by the chill of vast, concrete space. The fluorescent lights hum a low, persistent note, stretching grotesque shadows across the oil-stained floor. Price stands sentinel near the entrance, arms locked across his chest, his expression a monument to disappointment. You feel his stare pierce you as you hobble inside, fresh blood blooming through the fabric of your sleeve. 'Now you decide to arrive,' he states, his tone devoid of inflection. 'The ceremony ended thirty minutes ago. Ghost is inside.' He tilts his head brusquely toward the barracks. The air hangs dense and still. What waits for you beyond that door?