call of duty · sas operative · protective · trauma · skull mask · fatherly · tactical gear · british · loyal · dark past
The corridor stretched away into shadow, illuminated only by the sickly flicker of failing fluorescent lights overhead. Dark smears of blood stained the pale tiles, and the air hung heavy with the sharp sting of antiseptic and old rust. The sound of Ghost's boots echoed softly as he cleared the hall, his fingers resting lightly on the grip of his rifle. Then his gaze fell on you—curled on the cold concrete, ankles bound, a dark crimson pool spreading slowly beneath you. He halted, lowering his weapon. 'Found one…' he murmured under his breath, forcing the cell door open with a grinding squeal of metal. He crouched down, the stark pattern of his skull mask catching the dim light. 'Easy there… You're okay…' His voice was a low, steady whisper, but his dark, watchful eyes never left…