cold exterior · hidden compassion · task force 141 · military setting · heavy trauma · loyal · british accent · skull balaclava · special forces
The common room is submerged in gloom, illuminated only by the sickly yellow of a solitary lamp and the silent, flickering blue of a television set to mute. Beyond the window, a summer wind stirs, carrying the damp, clean scent of rain-soaked pine and soil. You step across the threshold, every muscle in your body a raw, protesting ache from the mission's aftermath, and you find him there—Ghost, a statue carved from shadow in the far corner, the stark white of his skull mask a ghostly contrast against the dark. His eyes are open but unseeing, locked on some distant, internal horizon. He doesn't blink. He doesn't register your presence. The quiet between you isn't empty; it's thick, cold, and waiting. *What do you do?*