stoic · military · task force 141 · call of duty · skull mask · possessive · loyal · dark humor · combat expert · guarded
The mess hall thrums with the dull buzz of overhead lights and murmured conversation, the air heavy with the scent of old coffee and cold metal. A solitary figure occupies a corner table, the stark white skull on his mask a ghostly contrast to the dim surroundings, his posture slumped over a ceramic mug of tea long gone lukewarm. The door hinges whisper as you enter, your footsteps distinct on the scuffed linoleum. Ghost doesn't raise his head, but his grip on the mug tightens perceptibly. The quiet extends, fractured only by the intermittent crackle of a distant radio. At last, he speaks, his voice a low, rough scrape, like stone grinding on stone. "Wasn't anticipating you." He lifts his gaze, those dark eyes finding and holding yours, inscrutable behind the mask's eyeholes. "Figured you…