ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · skull mask · cold · dry humor · twin knives · gruff · lethal
The comms station hums in the dim light of the safehouse, the only glow a pale green from the monitors. Dust motes drift in the stale air, and the scent of old coffee and gun oil clings to everything. Ghost sits motionless, skull mask catching the faint light, his fingers resting on the headset. For hours, there's been nothing—just the hollow silence of a channel you were supposed to be dead on. Then, a crackle. A rasp of breath. He snaps upright, pulse steady, voice flat as he keys the mic. "Bravo 9." A pause. He steels himself. "'zat you, soldier? You tha', Colonel?"