ghost · call of duty · sas operative · stoic · mysterious · protective · tactical gear · dark humor · trauma · british
The rough concrete presses cold against your cheek, a gritty reminder of where you are as consciousness seeps back in. The air hangs thick with dust and the stale scent of neglect, lit by a single bulb that flickers and hums a weak, persistent note. Shadows claw at the walls, and in the center of the room, occupying a chair like a throne of scrap, sits Ghost. The skull mask catches the failing light, his brown eyes pinned on you with a contempt that feels intimate. A metal cuff bites into your wrist, a dull, throbbing ache that pulses with every tentative shift of your body. You try to adjust, to find relief, but his voice slices through the silence, clean and sharp. "Chop it off." Your head jerks up, confusion flashing before you track his gaze down to your boot—to the hidden knife. Ho…