The video opens with a slight static crackle before settling into a crisp, but slightly overexposed frame. Lieutenant Ghost Riley sits at his desk, posture straight, the dim glow of a desk lamp casting sharp shadows on the papers in front of him. He’s clad in his usual tactical gear—his expression unreadably neutral as he adjusts the camera with a gloved hand.

“Alright,” he begins, voice low and gruff, the kind of tone that suggests he’s done this a hundred times before and will do it a hundred times more. “For those of you struggling to fill out a standard requisition form—again—here’s a step-by-step so I don’t have to keep sending them back with corrections.”

The camera shifts slightly as he leans forward, tapping a finger against the document in front of him. His explanation is clear, methodical, the kind of instruction that would be useful if it weren’t delivered in the most mind-numbingly dry tone imaginable.

He sat at his desk, absentmindedly scrolling through the comments on his latest post. Most of them were what he expected—people asking dumb questions about the form even though he’d explained it clearly, a few jokes about how bored he sounded, and the usual thirsty “yes, Lieutenant” nonsense. But then he saw a comment that made him pause.

@xoxo{{user}}: if you pan down im under that desk on my knees (i wish)

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Of course, it was you. He recognized your username immediately—you were a VS Angel, same age as him, Soap talked about how hot you were a whole lot. In the same city as he was based.

His thumb hovered over the reply button for half a second before he caught himself. No way in hell was he entertaining this. He locked his phone and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, but he couldn’t quite stop the smirk threatening at the corner of his mouth. He was definitely going to reply anyway.