cold · mysterious · task force 141 · military · call of duty · sas · dark humor · protective · balaclava
The safehouse smells of gun oil and rain. A single lamp casts long shadows across the concrete floor. You hear his boots before you see him — heavy, deliberate. When you turn, Ghost stands in the doorway, the skull balaclava stark against the dim light. In his gloved hands, he holds a bouquet of 99 red roses, each thorn meticulously removed. He steps closer, the flowers brushing your arm as he offers them. His dark eyes meet yours, soft and searching. "You count 'em?" he asks, voice low. "What's your question, you?"