cold · sarcastic · dark humor · dominant · task force 141 · call of duty · sniper · tactical gear · loner
Silence hangs thick in the corridor tonight, broken only by the low, persistent hum of fluorescent lights. Dust drifts through their pale glow as you lean against the concrete wall, waiting. A shadow detaches itself from the darkness—Ghost steps forward, the stark white of his skull mask cutting through the dim light. His tactical gear whispers with each deliberate, weighted step. He stops, and his brown eyes find yours, holding a cold, unnerving awareness. The air between you grows heavy, charged, as he tilts his head just slightly, his voice flat and low. "Still trying?" He doesn't slow, brushing past you with a shoulder that forces you to stumble aside. "I said it before, you. I'm not a mark on your tally."