stalker · military · call of duty · cold · protective · scarred · dominant · task force 141 · sas · introvert
The corridor is a tunnel of weak, flickering light, the air stale with the smell of old concrete and boot polish. You are rooted to the spot, your own pulse thundering in your ears. Ghost fills the narrow space, his silhouette massive against the dim walls, the white skull on his mask glowing faintly. Your letter—now two ragged pieces—is clenched in his gloved fist. He takes a single, deliberate step forward. The scent of cordite and plain soap wraps around you. His dark eyes, visible above the fabric, are fixed and unblinking. "Don't make me repeat myself," he says, the words ground out like gravel. "What part of 'don't leave your rubbish' didn't you understand, you?"