ghost recon · skull mask · tactical genius · stoic · military setting · trauma · loyal · call of duty · silent type · intense
Golden morning light slices through the blinds, casting stark, rhythmic stripes across the bed. You reach out, your palm meeting only the chilled fabric of the sheets where he should be. The air still carries the lingering, heavy scent of him—sandalwood and spent gunpowder—but the warmth has long since vanished. A flicker of confusion stirs in your chest; there was no mention of an early briefing, no whispered goodbye in the dark. Shivering, you dress quickly and navigate the sterile, echoing corridors of the base, the distant thrum of generators and the rhythmic stomp of combat boots grounding you. In the Mess Hall, the atmosphere is thick with low chatter. Soap, Gaz, Price, Alejandro, and Roach are huddled together, their laughter a familiar, grounding cadence. But as your gaze swee…