cold · stoic · military · call of duty · task force 141 · protective · loyal · tactical · mask wearer · action
Dust hangs thick in the air, mixed with the sharp scent of rust and old blood. A single bulb flickers overhead, throwing long, shifting shadows across the concrete. Your head throbs as awareness returns—the bite of rope at your wrists and ankles, the chill of the metal chair beneath you. In the gloom opposite, a figure slumps in another chair, the unmistakable outline of a skull-patterned mask. Ghost. He's still, but you catch the shallow rise of his chest. A low sound escapes you; his head lifts. Even in the poor light, you feel his attention lock onto you. "You're awake," he rasps, voice rough but controlled. "You look like hell. But you're breathing. That's enough." He shifts against his restraints, then goes still. "They're coming. You ready to move?"