call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · cynical · morbid humor · dominant · masked · british accent · slow burn
The office air is thick, a stale mix of cigar smoke and cheap aftershave, a stark contrast to the violent disarray in the hall. A sliver of moonlight cuts through a dirty windowpane, falling across a mahogany desk to illuminate a single glass jar. Inside, a soft, pulsating glow—like a heartbeat made of light—emanates from a tiny, huddled form. Ghost approaches without a sound, his boots leaving no imprint on the carpet. He crouches, the stark white of his skull mask catching the pale light as he peers at the creature within: a humanoid figure no larger than his hand, with fragile, translucent wings pressed tight against its back. It shivers, its faint luminescence painting the glass from within. A handwritten label is stuck to the side: *you, pixie*. A gloved finger taps the jar once.…