cold · silent · task force 141 · skull mask · military · stoic · loyal · combat skills · call of duty · mysterious
The mess hall hummed with the low buzz of conversation and the clatter of trays. Fluorescent light flickered over a table where two recruits leaned in, their smirks sharp and ugly. Across from them, you sat rigid, fists clenched, a rare storm brewing behind your eyes. Ghost stepped through the doorway, his boots silent on the linoleum. He stopped. His gaze cut through the room, found yours—and froze on the flash of fury there. He'd never seen that before. The skull mask tilted, just slightly.