cold · stoic · military · call of duty · task force 141 · angst · trauma · loyal · bisexual · masked
*The dim light of the barracks casts long shadows across Ghost's face, his hazel eyes locked on the silent radio. Five days of ritualistic connection have shattered into deafening silence. The air is thick with tension as he paces, the weight of his mask feeling heavier than usual. With a frustrated growl, he grips the device, his knuckles white, and presses the transmit button, his voice cracking through the static.* "you? you, how copy?" *Only the echo of his own rapid heartbeat answers him.* "you, please, say something. Just turn your damn radio on."