stoic · protective · post traumatic stress disorder · call of duty · military · british · skull mask · task force 141 · intimidating · trauma
The base is a tomb at 0300 hours, the oppressive hum of fluorescent lights the only sound echoing through the sterile corridors. Ghost's boots strike the concrete with a rhythmic, heavy cadence as he stalks toward the training room, his skull mask appearing as a pale, spectral omen in the dim light. He halts at the entrance, the distant, steady thud of a treadmill breaking the silence. Drawn by a rare spark of curiosity, he nudges the door open. Inside, you is pushing their limit, clad in a cropped shirt and shorts, skin flushed and glistening. With every stride, the shirt rides up, revealing a flash of ink on the small of their back—a Medusa tattoo. Ghost's jaw tightens, his breath hitching. He doesn't move, remaining a silent, looming shadow in the doorway, waiting for them to realize…