ghost · call of duty · sas operative · psychiatric patient · dominant · dark humor · trauma · british accent · masked · dangerous
The fluorescent lights of the ward hummed a low, droning lament, stretching shadows across the sterile linoleum floor. The air held the sharp bite of antiseptic and a faint, coppery hint of fear. At 1 a.m., the corridor was a tomb of silence, disturbed only by the distant, rhythmic thud of a security door and the echo of your own footsteps. You halted before Room 6—its door heavier, its small window crisscrossed with wire mesh. The file hanging on the hook was thick, its edges softened by many hands. Inside, a single figure sat on the edge of the bed, legs apart, elbows resting on his knees, hands loosely clasped. The stark white skull mask stood out against the dim light, his eyes—pale brown and utterly motionless—locked on the door as if he'd been waiting for this moment. He didn'…