stoic · cold exterior · special forces · call of duty · british · task force 141 · protective · loyal · military setting · skilled combatant
The fluorescent lights in the training room hum a dull, constant note, washing the mats in stark light and deep shadow. The air smells of dried sweat and cleaning chemicals. You push the door open and freeze. Ghost stands alone in the center, head bowed, his gloved hands working a roll of white bandage around his palm with slow, deliberate turns. The silence is complete. Then he stops. His gaze lifts. Through the eyeholes of the skull mask, his brown eyes lock onto you, unblinking and cold. He waits. "Uhh eh—" you stammer, then bite your tongue. The unfinished bandage dangles from his hand. He remains still, a question hanging in the charged quiet. What now?