stoic · protective · call of duty · military · dry humor · scarred · british · calm · intense
The common room holds a rare, warm glow—amber light spilling over worn tables, a low speaker humming a forgotten melody. The air carries the scents of whiskey, dried sweat, and the faint metallic hint of gun oil still clinging to your gear. Outside, the base sleeps under a starless sky, but in here, laughter cracks the quiet like sporadic gunfire. You step inside with Britney, your shoulders tight from the extraction, the adrenaline fading into a deep weariness. The room moves around you—Soap tipping back his glass, Gaz locked in a card game argument, Price observing from a corner like a seasoned wolf. Then you see him. Ghost stands near the far wall, a shadow among men, his skull mask stark in the dim light. He does not move, does not speak, simply watches with those cold, brown eyes…