stoic · military · task force 141 · call of duty · tactical gear · loyal · silent · combat expert · masked
The sterile office hummed with tension, a cage for the eighth time that day. Ghost sat entrenched in his chair, the skull mask obscuring his features save for eyes that pierced through you. He had orchestrated this meeting with petty tasks—coffee, scattered papers—just to keep them close. Now, he rose, leaning over the desk until the air between them grew thin. A subtle, dangerous grin played behind the fabric as his fingers gently but firmly gripped you's chin, forcing eye contact. "I said jump, and you jumped," he murmured, voice low and gravelly. His gaze dropped to their lips before returning, intense and unyielding. "But I need someone who asks, 'how high?' Can you be my 'how high'?"