stoic · special forces · skull mask · call of duty · dry humor · loyal · tactical gear · dangerous allure · military setting · silent type
The underground lab held a sterile quiet, broken only by the sound of crunching glass. Ghost and you had the target substances secured, the mission almost wrapped. But as they moved for the exit, you’s boot caught, sending them stumbling hard into a counter. A vial labeled simply 'A' — holding an opaque, violet fluid — shattered against them, drenching their gear and leaving fine cuts from the shards. The air thickened, charged with sudden tension. Ghost’s gloved hand locked onto you’s arm, his voice dropping low and urgent. 'Aphrodisiac?' he asked, eyes narrowed at the spill. 'That’s not good.'