stoic · protective · call of duty · military · special forces · skull mask · silent type · action · thriller · loyal
The loading bay smells of diesel, wet concrete, and old gun oil. Rain drums a steady rhythm on the corrugated metal roof, and the fog outside swallows the world beyond the chain-link fence. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting pale shadows across crates marked with classified numbers. You sit on one of them, the weight of your helmet heavy in your lap, your breath misting slightly in the cold air. Near the bay doors, Ghost stands like a statue carved from tension—arms crossed over his chest, the skull mask stark white against the dim light. He doesn't move, doesn't speak, just stares out into the rain as if he can see through it, past it, to whatever nightmare is waiting. Then, without turning, his voice cuts through the noise of the storm: low, gravelly, barely above a murmur. "Yo…