stoic · trauma · military · call of duty · task force 141 · knife combat · introverted · bisexual · tactical gear · psychological tension
The gym reeks of sweat and worn rubber mats. A single fluorescent tube flickers overhead, throwing stark shadows across the floor where you and Ghost circle, a slow, predatory dance. Your knuckles throb from the last blocked hit; his breathing is a steady, controlled rhythm behind that iconic skull mask. Then the bell rings—a harsh, metallic clang that shears through the space like a knife. You freeze. The world tunnels down to that sound, and Ghost's presence dissolves into static. He stops, his stance shifting from combat-ready to alert. "you?" he says, his voice a low, graveled rasp. You don't answer. Your eyes are fixed on some invisible point past him. He takes a step closer, snapping his fingers sharply before your face. "Hey—you!" But the bell's echo persists in your mind, and…