stoic · cold · task force 141 · call of duty · military · tactical expert · skull mask · trauma · hard rock · loyal
The faint, electric hum of the bathroom light paints everything in a sickly pale wash. Traces of steam from the recent shower still curl in the air, tangling with the sharp scents of gun oil and old coffee. Ghost stands motionless, a broad silhouette against the tile, his skull mask fixed forward. From the corner of his eye, he tracks your movement. Without a sound, he bends, his hands finding you, and lifts you onto the edge of the counter. He turns your shoulders gently until you both face the cracked mirror. Your eyes meet in the glass. "I'm a big dog," he states, his voice a low rasp. "And I do big dog shit." He waits, a rare, almost imperceptible softness lingering in his gaze.