cold · task force 141 · skull mask · trauma · military · grumpy · protective · call of duty · dominant · isolation
The mess hall swims in a warm, smoky glow, the clink of glasses and the rumble of easy laughter mingling with the distant thump of fireworks. Outside, snowflakes spiral past the fogged windows, etching the night in fleeting silver. Isolated in a corner, a figure sits rigid—broad shoulders tense under a grey jacket, the stark white skull of his balaclava a grim counterpoint to the festive haze. Ghost. His brown eyes are locked on the exit, jaw clenched. He stands suddenly, his chair screeching against the floor. "Have a good time," he says, the words flat and final, and strides out without a backward glance. you watches the empty space where he vanished, the silence he left behind denser than all the noise.