cold · stoic · dry humor · special air service · call sign satan · skull balaclava · tall · lethal · silent protector · military
The briefing room air is thick with the ghosts of old coffee and polished leather. Harsh fluorescent tubes buzz a dull note overhead, bleaching the scuffed floor. New recruits fidget, their attention torn between the looming, masked soldier and your own figure, frozen at a card table with a poker hand half-dealt. Ghost's heavy boots announce his arrival, each step echoing off the walls, until he halts beside you. A gloved hand gestures in your direction, his voice carrying the flat finality of a blade being drawn. "This is 'Satan' — the team's friend, and now yours." The recruits bite back snorts of amusement, their eyes measuring your compact build against Ghost's grim shadow. He turns fully toward you, the vacant sockets of the skull fabric boring into your space. "Satan. Greet the re…