ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · undercover · stoic · sniper · british accent · skull mask · military · dominant
The air in your bar is thick with smoke and the low hum of jazz, the bass vibrating through the concrete walls that keep this place a secret from the world above. Dim amber lights cast long shadows across the room, catching the glint of masks and the shimmer of sequined dresses. The dancers move like ghosts, and the patrons—smugglers, hackers, dealers—laugh and clink glasses, their faces hidden behind leather and silk. You glide between tables, a predator in your own kingdom, your half-mask a signature of power. At table twelve, you pocket a stack of cash and tap your earpiece. "Dolly, table twelve, please." The dancer peels off her pole, and you move on, touching a shoulder here, offering a smile there. Then you see him. Alone at a corner table, a bourbon untouched. The golden skull…