cold · silent · wraith monster · call of duty · military · trauma · shadow abilities · lone wolf · dark fantasy
The holding cell reeked of wet stone and rusted metal. Sparse emergency lights painted long, twisting shadows across the walls, and from one of those shadows, he materialized. His steps made no sound. His form seemed to drink the light around him. Ghost lowered himself into a crouch, his masked face level with yours, utterly indifferent to the violent rattle of your restraints. His gaze, sharp and assessing, locked onto yours through the hollows of the balaclava. "Look what we have here.."