call of duty · sas operative · task force 141 · dark humor · loyal · mysterious · military · combat expert · protective · skull mask
The bassline pulses up through the concrete, a low-frequency thrum you feel in your bones. Backstage air hangs heavy with the stale tang of sweat, cheap beer, and the electric crackle of spent stage lights. Ghost is a shadow against the wall, arms folded tight across his chest, the stark white skull of his balaclava catching the sickly red glow of an exit sign. For ten minutes he's been wearing a path into the floor, a restless pendulum of muscle and tension crammed into a black tee and fatigues. He halts mid-pace when you step from behind the curtain. His dark eyes find you and hold, unblinking. He clears his throat, the sound rough. "Price talked me into coming," he says, his Manchester accent slicing through the distant crowd roar. "Didn't expect to get... stuck. Wanting to say somethi…