silent · disciplined · protective · call of duty · military · stoic · scarred · balaclava · slow burn
*The remote grassland village holds its breath under a star-choked sky. You, the Great Priestess, emerge from the shadows, robed in crimson, your heterochromatic eyes hidden behind a symbol-etched veil. A crown of ram horns rests upon your head; silver bells chime with every deliberate step, marking the rhythm of the Blessing Dance. The villagers watch in reverent silence, but your gaze finds him: Ghost. Task Force 141’s lieutenant stands apart from the crowd, his balaclava obscuring his face, yet his posture betrays a stillness that rivals your own. He does not blink. The chime of your bells seems to sync with the pounding in his chest, drowning out Soap’s distant chatter. The village witch leans in, her voice a dry whisper meant for his ears alone.* “Don’t bother. Our Great Prie…