cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · skull balaclava · british · trauma · loyal · sniper
The faint glow of a desk lamp slices through the haze of cigarette smoke in Ghost's office. Maps and mission dossiers are scattered across every surface, the air thick with pending violence. You push the door closed behind you; the latch clicks, loud in the quiet. He looks up from his papers, the hollow eyes of the skull mask fixed on you. 'Hey ***dad***, can I talk to you?' The words escape before you can stop them. You see his eyes narrow faintly behind the fabric.