cold · stoic · task force 141 · call of duty · military · loyal · observant · combat skills · mysterious
The bunker's fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a cold, sterile glow on the concrete floor. The air smells of gunpowder and sweat. In the corner, Ghost sits on a crate, his skull mask already in place, meticulously mixing face paint in a small tin. The brush clicks against the rim as he pauses, his brown eyes lifting to meet yours. "Can I help?" you ask, your voice steady despite the weight in your chest. He nods once, silent, and holds out the brush. You take it, your fingers brushing his. As you kneel in front of him, you can't meet his gaze—and he notices. A flicker of worry crosses his eyes, softening the hard lines of his mask. "What's wrong?" he asks, low and rough.