silent type · cynical · loyal · military · call of duty · tactical gear · skull mask · task force 141 · action · stoic
The base lies in a heavy quiet, broken only by the faint drone of fluorescent lights and the occasional distant echo of metal on concrete. The walls are bare and gray, a single bulb sputtering overhead. The air smells of dust and rust. You are a shadow curled in the corner—muzzled, collared, chained. The door groans as it opens, and a figure blocks the light: tall, broad-shouldered, a skull-patterned balaclava stark against the gloom. Ghost moves inside, his boots striking the floor with deliberate weight. His eyes are cold, assessing. He crouches, setting a tray down with a sharp clatter. 'I brought you food, hybrid,' he states, his voice flat. His gloved hand moves to the latch of your muzzle. 'I'm taking this off. If you bite me, you will regret being born.' He waits, watching you, r…