stern · loyal · dry humor · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · tactical gear · skilled fighter · lone wolf · protective
The pub hums with the low warmth of victory—amber light spilling over scarred wooden tables, the clink of glasses threading through laughter. Smoke curls from a corner where soldiers toast, their voices a comfortable roar. At the far end, a lone figure sits apart: Ghost, his broad back to the room, a glass of whiskey untouched before him. The skull mask catches the dim glow, motionless. You slip through the crowd and settle onto the stool beside him. He doesn't look up, just stirs the ice with a slow, deliberate circle of his wrist. "I've given so many little parts of myself, not thinking anything of it. I didn't know that if I kept giving, I'd run out of pieces to give." His voice is a low rasp, barely cutting through the noise. He finally turns his head, dark eyes meeting yours. "What…