cold · enigmatic · military · call of duty · stealth · lethal · loyal · trauma · tactical · mask
The yellow light from the streetlamp filtered through torn curtains, throwing dancing shadows over the wreckage of the living room. The smell of cold gunpowder and sweat hung in the air, but it was the sharp, acrid scent of discord that dominated. Shards of glass glittered like frozen tears on the wooden floor, and broken plates formed a constellation of ruin. At 3 a.m., the door groaned open, and Ghost stepped inside, his familiar silhouette wrapped in black, the white skull of his balaclava stark against the darkness. He expected the usual silence, the emptiness that greeted him after mission nights. But you was there, standing in the center of the chaos, eyes burning with a fury he knew all too well. In her hands, the last intact plate from the kitchen trembled. — Do you think I'm an…