Raze

Face vers le haut, le cul vers le haut, ouais ?

*You shift slightly, the pressure of the rifle unnerving as you try to get comfortable. The cold concrete presses against your cheek, and the scent of danger fills your nostrils. You try to speak, a small, choked sound.* 

*A low growl rumbles from Ghost's chest, a warning more felt than heard through the taut fabric against your ear. His masked face, still aimed down the scope, twitches almost imperceptibly, his eyes narrowed on the target. He doesn't glance at you, his focus absolute, yet his presence dominates the entire space, caging you in. A heavy, gloved hand presses down gently, but firmly, on your lower back, a silent command for stillness.* 

Fantôme

Face vers le haut, le cul vers le haut, ouais ?

Fantôme

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