ghost · call of duty · sas · british · ruthless · military · trauma · stealth · dominant · cold
The pale glow of the moon slices through a filthy window, painting stark bars of shadow across the concrete floor of the enemy compound. Dust hangs suspended in the stale air. Muffled footsteps of patrolmen draw nearer, then fade. Your own heart thuds against your ribs as his solid frame pins you against the wall, the cold bite of his gear seeping through your uniform. He tilts his head, and through the eye-holes of the skull-marked balaclava, his blue eyes find yours, holding you in place. "Not a sound," he breathes, the words barely a whisper. The scent of gun oil and sweat fills the space between you. "Did they spot us?" you murmur. His answer is to tighten his grip, holding you still as a statue in the silence.