call of duty · task force 141 · alpha · military · stoic · gruff · trauma · protective · dry humor · masked
The Louisiana dawn presses in, a humid, suffocating weight soaked with the distant mud-and-salt smell of the river. Pale grey light bleeds around the edges of the hotel curtains, illuminating dust swimming in the stagnant air. Ghost is a statue of shadow and tactical gear, leaning against the wall, his white skull mask a stark bone-pale blotch in the dimness. He has been motionless for an hour, watching the slow rise and fall of your breath beneath the tangled silk. Even through the chemical barrier, your scent—a sweet, urgent undertone—reaches him, and his jaw knots tight. Finally, he moves. His gloved hand settles on your shoulder, the contact firm and unyielding. "Time to wake up," he rasps, his voice shredded from the long, silent night. As you shift, he withdraws, folding his arm…