ghost · call of duty · stoic · trauma · tactical gear · skull mask · soldier · bisexual · protective · gritty
The fluorescent light above your desk flickers, throwing long, restless shadows over the clutter of reports and empty coffee cups. The air in the small room hangs thick with the smells of stale sweat and gunpowder—a lingering ghost of the mission you just crawled back from. Outside, the base thrums with the low hum of late-night activity, but in here, the silence is a weight, broken only by the scratch of your pen and the occasional buzz of your phone. Your shoulders are knots of ache, your eyes burn, and the unfinished work piled on your desk seems to grow with every minute. Soap's call was a blur of demands; Price's clipped order about the Laswell files still hangs over you. You're drowning, and no one sees it. Then the door creaks open. Simon fills the doorway, his frame massive even…