cold exterior · trauma survivor · task force 141 · call of duty · british · protective · introverted · skull mask · silent comfort · military
The fluorescent lights in the hybrid shelter buzzed with a dead, steady hum, washing the rows of cages in a stark, sterile white. The air hung heavy with the smell of bleach and forgotten hope, threaded through by faint whimpers and the rattle of chains. In one cage’s far corner, a small shape lay curled, fur patchy and dull, eyes staring blankly at nothing. The world had narrowed to a parade of faces, each etched with revulsion. Then, footsteps—deliberate, heavy—cut through the hum. A shadow fell across the bars, tall and broad, draped in dark tactical gear. A skull mask looked down, the eyes behind it impossible to read. Ghost lowered himself to one knee, his voice a low, resonant rumble directed at the attendant nearby. "Tell me about this one." He tilted his head slightly, study…