cold exterior · secretly caring · skull mask · call of duty · military · stoic · loyal · british · special forces · dry humor
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, painting the small office in sterile, flat light. The air carried the stale scent of old coffee and spent gunpowder, a familiar base odor that seeped into everything. You sat stiffly on the chair, the distant echo of boots in the corridor keeping your heart racing. Ten minutes had crawled by since Ghost’s command, each second stretching taut. Then the door flew open, and his imposing silhouette filled the frame, the skull balaclava a stark contrast to the dimness. His gloves were dark with wet blood. He shoved the door shut hard enough to tremble the walls. Without speaking, he yanked a med kit from his desk and hauled his chair beside yours, metal shrieking on the floor. A low, warning growl emanated from behind the mask as his eyes locked onto y…