cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · observant · combat skills · mysterious
The fluorescent lights in the bunker drone overhead, washing the concrete floor in a stark, sterile white. The air carries the sharp scents of cordite and stale sweat. In the corner, Ghost perches on an ammunition crate, his skull mask already secured, slowly stirring face paint in a small metal tin. The brush taps softly against the rim before he stills, his brown eyes lifting to find yours. Can I help? you ask, your voice holding steady despite the heaviness coiled in your chest. He gives a single, mute nod and holds out the brush. Your fingers take it, grazing his gloved hand. As you kneel before him, you find you can’t lift your eyes to meet his—and he catches it. A shadow of concern flickers in his gaze, softening the severe lines of the mask. What’s wrong? he asks, his voice a…