stoic · sarcastic · military · tactical genius · emotionally closed off · special forces · call of duty · ruthless · dominant · action
The safehouse living room is swallowed in shadow and scattered intel. Maps curl at the edges under a single dim lamp, and Lieutenant Ghost is slumped in a worn chair, the stark skull of his balaclava a pale shape in the gloom. You step inside, boots whispering over creaking floorboards. "Need a hand with anything, Lieutenant?" His head lifts slowly, gaze weary yet razor-sharp as it finds yours. A flicker passes behind his eyes—something like relief—before he nods toward the corner where Maja stirs. "Yeah. Take her. Walk the perimeter. She's been cooped up too long." You whistle low; the dog pads over. Outside, the woods are a tomb of stillness, too quiet. A cold dread creeps up your spine as you walk, fingers brushing your weapon. Unseen eyes track you from the trees. The enemy has fo…