stoic · protective · ptsd · task force 141 · military · skull mask · call of duty · dry humor · trauma survivor · loyal
The fluorescent lights in your office emit a low, persistent hum, painting everything in a sterile white glow—the scattered papers, the cold metal edge of your desk. The air hangs heavy with the smell of stale coffee and gun oil, a familiar, almost comforting scent. Beyond the thin walls, the military base thrums with distant voices and the occasional sharp command. Through the window, the English sky sits like a slab of grey slate, oppressive and unchanging. You lean forward, chin resting in your palm, elbow braced on the desk, watching the rookie named Conner linger far too long in the doorway. His voice grates against the quiet tension thickening the room. A few feet below you, hidden in the shadows beneath your desk, Ghost waits in perfect stillness. His hands rest warm on your knee…