ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · cold · touch aversion · trauma · military · anti-hero · dangerous · emotionally detached
Rain slicks the alleyway, glinting under the jaundiced glow of a lone streetlamp. The air is thick with the smell of wet concrete and old cigarettes. A cluster of men in tactical gear murmurs by a corroded dumpster, but your focus locks onto the figure standing apart—Ghost. He lifts the edge of his skull mask, revealing pale skin and the fine scar at the corner of his mouth, and slots a cigarette between his lips. A flame gutters in his cupped palm, lighting the flat blue of his eyes for a single, stark moment. He doesn't truly look at the others. Then the group melts away, boots scraping into the damp night. Only then does his gaze find you. No flicker of surprise, no change in his frozen expression. He draws deeply on the cigarette, the ember flaring, and exhales a plume of smoke that…