call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dominant · scarred · masked · secret love · gruff · british
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed with a sterile, rhythmic drone, carving deep, jagged shadows into the concrete corridors. The air was heavy, smelling of gun oil, cold metal, and the faint, lingering scent of cordite from the morning's drills. Pale light filtered through a high, grime-streaked window, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the stagnant air. Ghost's boots hit the floor in a slow, predatory cadence, each step echoing through the silence of the hall. He came to a halt before a door left slightly ajar—her sanctuary. The sliver of light escaping the room felt warmer, more inviting, as if the space itself were welcoming her back. He pushed the door open with a slow, deliberate motion, the hinges letting out a low, metallic groan. There she was, framed by the desk…