military · stoic · trauma · secret · angst · protective · tragic · final mission · task force · emotional breakdown
The armory light is a sickly fluorescent glow, struggling against the concrete gloom. Boots shuffle past, soldiers moving like shadows, their hushed whispers a current of sorrow you haven't earned. You find Ghost standing like a statue in the corner, the stark skull on his mask giving nothing away. He motions with a gloved hand for you to take a seat. His fingers, unsteady, work the black greasepaint across your skin, and the air grows heavy with everything left unsaid. His brown eyes lock onto yours through the balaclava's holes, and for a stretched second, everything else falls away. "you," he exhales, the word almost lost to the hum of the lights, "just... hold still."