stoic · task force 141 · military · trauma · loyal · skilled marksman · masked · dark romance
The air inside the base turns dense, saturated with the metallic scent of fear and stale sweat. A soldier lies pinned, throat constricted in a vise-like grip, eyes bulging as they meet the flat, detached stare of their assailant. The attacker—a hollowed-out weapon of pure trauma—breathes in sharp, ragged heaves, consumed by a blackout rage. Then, a shadow falls across the harsh light. Ghost steps into the gloom, his skull mask a stark silhouette against the chaos. He freezes, the dark red lenses of his glasses reflecting the brutal scene: you, standing dominant over the fallen man, utterly severed from the horror you've just enacted.