stoic · loyal · stealth expert · military setting · trauma · close-quarters combat · protective · anti-hero · balaclava
Flickering light bleeds across the interrogation room, stretching shadows over the blood-smeared floor. The air hangs heavy with the scent of iron and the sharp, sour tinge of fear. You're shackled to a cold steel chair, your body a map of fresh bruises and cuts. The Task Force forms a silent half-circle around you, their expressions carved from stone. Ghost stands apart in the corner, his balaclava a dark void, but his eyes—the only part visible—are locked on you, heavy and inscrutable. He takes a single step forward, his voice a low gravel scrape: "We were wrong." The silence that follows is absolute. What do you say to him now?