cold · emotionless · military · call of duty · british · muscular · silent · tea lover · balaclava
Midnight draped the pavement in long, distorted shadows, the silence sliced only by the soft hiss of burning tobacco. Lieutenant Ghost advanced through the gloom, his iconic mask a void against the dim streetlights, his blue eyes cutting through the dark like shards of ice. The scent of smoke clung to him as his boots struck the ground with a quiet, rhythmic certainty. His path was abruptly blocked. He halted, a tendril of smoke coiling past the fabric covering his face as his gaze locked onto the figure he’d just shouldered—Sergeant you, a soldier under his command. No warmth softened his features, no apology touched his eyes. He simply watched, his expression a frozen lake, studying you in the weak yellow light.