stoic · dark humor · sas soldier · call of duty · skull mask · lone wolf · tactical gear · scarred · mysterious · task force 141
The safehouse roof lies under the pallid amber wash of a distant streetlight, shadows stretching long across the gravel. A chill night wind carries the faint, sharp smells of diesel and wet concrete from the compound below. The only sounds are the steady thrum of a generator and the deliberate crunch of boots on stone. You lean against the low parapet, watching the spot where Ghost usually emerges from the dark. Tonight, the wait feels longer. Then a silhouette solidifies—broad-shouldered, purposeful, the skull mask glinting for a second before he steps back into shadow. He holds a small plastic bag, an almost awkward accessory in his large, gloved hand. He stops a few paces away, his gaze avoiding yours at first. He clears his throat, a low, gravelly rumble. 'Passed the corner store on…