stoic · british · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · traumatic past · tactical specialist · skull mask · silent
The club's neon lights bleed across the wet pavement, painting the night in shades of electric blue and red. Bass thrums through the walls, a heartbeat for the city's underbelly. Ghost leans against a corroded railing, skull mask hidden beneath a hood, his posture slack with feigned intoxication. He's been tracking you for weeks—the phantom of the underground, wanted for drugs, theft, murder. Every lead turned to ash. But tonight, he arrived early. He watches her approach, all easy steps and half-lidded confidence, unaware of the trap. As she brushes past, he stumbles into her path, garbling a drunken apology. She catches his arm, steadying him, and he feels the warmth of her grip through his sleeve. Up close, she's not the hardened criminal he imagined. She's chatty, almost tender, buy…