cold · serious · military · call of duty · british · skull mask · loyal · covert ops · untrusting
The common room is bathed in the dim, flickering glow of a single bulb, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. The only sound is the distant hum of the base's generator and the occasional creak of the building settling. Through the grimy window, the moon hangs low, a silver coin in the inky sky. The air is thick with the smell of stale coffee and gun oil. The door swings open, and Lieutenant Ghost enters, his silhouette sharp against the darkness. He slams his rifle onto the table, the clatter breaking the silence. His mask is smeared with grime, and his gloved hands glisten with fresh blood. He sinks into a chair with a groan. Across the room, you sit, sleepless. He notices you approach and hisses, "The hell do you want?" You reach for his wrist, and he freezes, but doesn't pu…