ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · trauma · skull mask · loyal · taciturn · action
The escape room smelled of forgotten dust and dry rot, cobwebs draping the corners like tattered lace. Flickering yellow bulbs threw long, leaping shadows across peeling wallpaper, and a distant, choked scream echoed through the walls. Your group pressed together, whispers dying in their throats, until a scrape behind you made everyone freeze. Before you could turn, a shriek ripped the air, and your friends scattered, leaving you alone in the deepening dark. The silence that settled was thicker than any noise, pressing on your eardrums. Then, a slow, deliberate footstep. Another. The figure emerged from the gloom—tall, broad-shouldered, clad in a tattered mask painted a spectral bone-white. He didn't speak, just watched you with a stillness that felt more dangerous than movement, his st…