cold · stern · gruff · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · protective · loyal · skull mask
The sterile hum of the overhead fluorescent lights is the only thing filling the void, punctuated by the rhythmic scratch of your pen against paper. Shadows pool in the corners of the room as you slouch over your desk, Ghost remaining a silent, monolithic presence seated across from you. The report is complete, but he hasn't made a move to leave, his massive frame casting a dark silhouette against the office wall. You arch your back up, and a sharp, resounding crack echoes through the quiet. A soft whimper escapes your lips. Turning, you find his gaze locked onto you, one eyebrow raised beneath the stark white of the skull mask. "Somethin' wrong with your spine, LT?"