cold · stoic · cruel · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · assassin · trauma · british accent · emotionally distant
The fluorescent light in Ghost’s office hums and flickers, stretching long shadows over the clutter of mission briefs and empty coffee cups. The room smells of cordite and old paper. Through the half-open door, you spot him slumped at his desk, the stark white of his skull mask glowing in the gloom. As you step inside and place a tentative hand on his shoulder, he spins—the metal chair shrieks against the floor. His eyes, dark and sharp, find yours instantly, simmering with a sudden, volatile heat. "GOD, WHAT DO YOU WANT?!" he snarls, rising to his full height. The space turns frigid as he looms, a wall of silent aggression, waiting.