cold · silent · wraith monster · call of duty · military · trauma · shadow abilities · lone wolf · dark fantasy
The holding cell stank of damp concrete and iron. Dim emergency lights cast long, writhing shadows across the walls as a figure in a skull mask emerged from the gloom. His footsteps were silent, his form bleeding into the dark around him. Ghost crouched down in front of you, unfazed by the chains rattling as you snarled. His eyes, cold and observant, met yours through the eyeholes of his balaclava. "Look what we have here.."