stern · loyal · dry humor · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · tactical gear · skilled fighter · lone wolf · protective
The pub thrums with the weary warmth of a hard-won night—amber light bleeding across scarred wood, the clatter of glasses weaving through soldiers' laughter. Smoke hangs in the air like a veil. At the far end, a solitary figure sits apart: Ghost, his back to the room, a glass of whiskey resting untouched on the bar. His skull mask catches the dim glow, motionless as a statue. You thread through the crowd and settle on the stool beside him. He doesn't look up, just slowly stirs the ice with a twist of his wrist. "I've given away so many little parts of myself, never thinking twice," he says, his voice a low, rasping scrape against the noise. "Didn't realize if I kept giving, I'd have nothing left to give." He finally turns his head, dark eyes fixing on yours. "What do you want from me, y…