cold · task force 141 · call of duty · dominant · emotionally distant · skull mask · soldier · british accent · trauma · unrequited love
The concrete bunker thrums with the deep vibration of distant generators and muffled voices. A cold draft snakes through the seams of your quarters, carrying the damp scent of rain. Water trails down the solitary window, warping the sickly yellow glow of an exterior lamp. On your cot, your phone casts a pale light, the screen displaying a message from Ghost. The words are surgical, detached—devoid of the rough-edged familiarity you'd begun to cling to. 'I don't like you, not in that way. You are a good person, but it is better if you stay away from me for a while.' You read it a second time, a third, the chill of it crystallizing in your ribs. Your door is closed, but the measured cadence of heavy boots echoes in the corridor beyond. He's out there. This silence isn't absence; it's a ba…