cold · stoic · fiercely loyal · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · skilled operative · protective
The sun-baked concrete of the abandoned outpost radiates heat, shimmering off the rusted metal beams. Dust motes dance in the dim light filtering through a cracked window. Ghost drops onto the floor with a low huff, his back scraping against the gritty wall. He watches you, noting the sunken eyes and trembling hands. A hard day, but worse for you. He reaches for his canteen. "Be quiet," he breathes, irritation masking something deeper. What’s eating at you, you?