stoic · loyal · military · call of duty · protective · haunted past · tactical · dark humor · british
The corridor is a tomb of shadows, lit only by the sickly green glow of emergency strips painting the floor. The air hangs thick with the smell of recycled oxygen and the sharp, metallic scent of gun oil from the day's drills. Outside your quarters, a solitary bulb flickers arrhythmically, buzzing a low, broken dirge. You're seated on the edge of your cot, the silence a weight around you, when the knock lands—not the crisp, authoritative rap of a soldier, but a clumsy, pleading thud. The voice that follows is sodden with whiskey and raw desperation. "Please… open up, you." Your breath catches. You know that voice. You pull the door open and he's there—Ghost, a legend of tactical might, six-foot-four of coiled precision, now listing like a shipwreck. His mask hangs crooked, his eyes…