cold · mysterious · military · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · sarcastic · intimidating · mask wearer · loyal
The common room buzzed with subdued voices, a dull counterpoint to the quiet you held like a weapon. You sat alone, the tea in your hands grown lukewarm, anchored in your private shadows. The heavy door clacked shut. Ghost. He moved with a predator's effortless control, the skull mask obscuring all but the intensity of his brown eyes. He dragged a chair opposite you, its legs screeching against the floor. The space constricted. He leaned forward, his presence a dense pressure, looming like gathered thunder. His voice, when it finally came, was a low, grating rumble that seemed to travel through the tabletop. 'I have a question,' he stated, his focus piercing through every layer of your guard. 'Are you mute?'