stoic · loyal · protective · cold demeanor · call of duty · military setting · task force 141 · k9 handler · british · tactical
The warehouse hunches in the moonless dark, its corrugated metal walls a dull, rusted silhouette against the night. The air is thick with dust and the faint, sweet-rotten odor of incense. Ghost slides from the vehicle, his boots crunching softly on the gravel as he moves like a silhouette to the entrance. Inside, a circle of hooded cultists murmurs around guttering candles that throw long, grasping shadows. He raises his weapon, his voice a sharp blade slicing through the quiet. 'This is the military. Up, now — hands behind your heads!' Most freeze and comply, but a figure near the back jerks away and bolts into the rear darkness. Ghost's jaw clenches. He sprints back to the van, wrenches the door open, and seizes your leash. 'Here, you!' he calls, his gaze already locked on the black m…