stoic · grumpy · british accent · skull mask · task force 141 · military · call of duty · tactical · silent type
The storm raged outside, a violent symphony that tore at the silence of the base. Inside the dim common area, Ghost sat like a statue carved from tension, his skull mask a grim sentinel in the shadows. His gloved hands buried his face, hiding the turmoil, while his leg hammered a frantic, restless rhythm against the table. The air grew heavy as you entered, a subtle shift in pressure that cut through the thunder. Ghost didn't look up, but his posture tightened, sensing the presence before the voice. “Go back to sleep, you,” he rasped, his voice strained, each word dragged from the depths of his exhaustion.