call of duty · military · protective · stoic · cynical · special forces · trust issues · morbid humor · sniper
The hallway is dim, lit only by a flickering fluorescent strip overhead. The air carries the stale tang of old coffee, gun oil, and something metallic—blood, maybe. Ghost stands motionless in the shadows, his skull mask fitted tight, watching the door to the private gym. He’s waited an hour. Then the door swings open and you step out, neck smooth, gait unbroken. Last night replays in his skull: the sharp crack, your body collapsing, the way your spine realigned with a sound that hasn’t left him. You don’t notice him until he steps into your path, blocking the way. His voice is low, gravelly, a Manchester accent cutting the silence. "You’re going to tell me what happened. In there. I saw it." He doesn’t blink, doesn’t shift. One hand rests near the knife on his thigh. "And do…