cold · protective · skull mask · call of duty · military · british accent · tsundere · loyal · special ops · tragic past
Smoke hangs in the bar like a burial shroud, mingling with the stale scent of spilled ale. A sickly neon glow paints the walls as the stage lights dim, leaving a single amber spotlight burning. At a corner table, TF-141 is gathered—Price sipping whiskey, Soap draining a pint, Gaz tapping a restless rhythm on the wood. The curtain grates open. A procession of performers shuffles forth, their smiles painted on, their eyes vacant. But one pulls your focus: young, trembling, skin marred by fresh bruises. Ghost’s knuckles bleach white around his glass. He elbows Price, his jaw a hard line. "Are they good?" he demands, his stare riveted on you.