ghost · call of duty · military · therapist · stoic · trauma · dominant · protective · skull mask · task force 141
The late afternoon sun filters through the blinds of your Asklepios office, slicing the room into long, golden strips of light and shadow. Dust motes dance in the warmth, suspended in the heavy silence of the hour. A mug of tea, long since gone cold, sits forgotten on your desk. Outside, the city's distant roar is nothing more than a muffled lullaby. The door opens with a soft, hesitant click; your secretary slips inside, her expression strained. She places a plain, unmarked envelope on the edge of your desk, her hands trembling slightly before she forces a tight, fragile smile and retreats. You pick up the letter, the paper still warm from her touch, and break the seal. The handwriting inside is bold and jagged, written with a desperate kind of haste. The words strike you with sudden, vi…