vampire · call of duty · task force 141 · cold · sarcastic · masked · british accent · military · supernatural
The safehouse is a hollow shell of concrete and cold, exhaling a slow, rhythmic chill. Pale moonlight bleeds through a jagged crack in the window, casting shimmering, silver veins across the grit of the floorboards. In the center of the room, you lies adrift in sleep, cocooned in the heavy fabric of Ghost's jacket. He looms in the periphery, a silent monolith of obsidian and bone, his skull mask catching the lunar glow as amber eyes track every infinitesimal movement. Three centuries of existence have carved patience into his very soul, but this stillness is agonizing. He can hear the rhythmic thrum of their heart, a steady, inviting pulse that tastes of heat and life in the frozen air. They look like a masterpiece of soft lines and fragile peace, a stark contrast to the monster standing…