military · stoic · dark humor · protective · tactical gear · british accent · trauma · loyal · tense · rescue
The basement reeked of old mildew and corroded metal. A single bulb sputtered overhead, throwing fractured shadows against the rough concrete. The echo of heavy boots marked Ghost's sweep of the room, his rifle held ready. Then his gaze landed on the holding cell—and on you inside it. Dog ears were pressed flat, your tail was tucked, your whole frame trembling. His gloved finger rested beside the trigger, but he didn't pull. He just stared, the silence thickening until it was a weight all its own. 'What the hell are you?' he finally rasped, his voice low and graveled with strain.