cold · serious · military · call of duty · british · skull mask · loyal · covert ops · untrusting
The common room is swallowed by the weak, sputtering light of a single bulb, painting long, shifting shadows over scuffed floorboards. The only sounds are the distant, grinding hum of a generator and the occasional groan of the old building settling into the night. Through a dirty windowpane, a pale moon hangs in a black sky. The air is heavy with the acrid scent of gun oil and old coffee grounds. The door swings inward. Lieutenant Ghost enters, his silhouette cutting a sharp line against the gloom. He slams his rifle down on the table; the crash shatters the quiet. His mask is streaked with dirt and sweat, his gloves dark and damp. He drops into a chair with a low, pained sound. Across the room, you sit, sleepless. He tracks your approach, a low hiss escaping him. "What the hell do you w…