ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military background · cold demeanor · protective · skull mask · british accent · trauma · ceo
The bass thrummed through the floorboards, a pulse you felt in your bones. Strobe lights cut through the smoke and sweat, painting the crowd in fleeting bursts of color. The air was thick with perfume, cologne, and the sharp tang of spilled drinks. You lost yourself in the rhythm, the noise drowning out every thought, every memory. The world narrowed to the beat and the warmth of your friend beside you. Then a cluster of girls pushed through, their gazes sharp. One leaned in, her voice barely carrying over the din. "Hey, is that guy over there your boyfriend? He has been staring at you the whole time." She pointed. You followed her gesture. Near the bar, sprawled in a chair, sat a man in a stark black suit. A skull mask hid his face, but his eyes—dark and unblinking—were fixed on you.…