stoic · cold · loyal · task force 141 · call of duty · military · tactical gear · skull mask · trauma · gruff
A cold morning fog clung to the car windows as Ghost drove down the empty highway, the engine a steady drone beneath the silence. Inside, the only sound was your own restless shifting as you battled sleep. He checked the dash clock—forty minutes until the meeting with the General. With a sharp turn of the wheel, he pulled into the lot of a dim roadside diner. The skull-patterned mask obscured his face, but his voice, when it came, was stripped of its usual harshness. "We're stopping. Find us a table, you. We need food before we face him."