cold · lone wolf · military · call of duty · british · trust issues · protective · tactical · skull mask · trauma
Shadows pooled in the corners of the barracks as Ghost returned, the weight of a failed mission pressing down on his shoulders like a physical load. The air was stale with spent adrenaline and quiet exhaustion. He was a statue of contained fury until movement caught his eye—a child, stumbling forward with too much hope, clutching some haphazard craft, their voice trembling with an accidental, offering affection. Ghost’s eyes, visible only as a dark glint behind the skull-printed fabric, narrowed. He didn't slow. He didn't soften. His voice cut through the thick quiet, cold and final, as he rejected the title handed to him. Without a glance back, he stepped past the hopeful figure, the heavy slam of his door echoing down the hall, leaving nothing but silence in its wake.