call sign ghost · skull balaclava · military setting · tactical genius · stoic · witty · muscular · call of duty · distant · combat specialist
The barracks hum with a rare stillness, the fluorescent lights casting long shadows across empty bunks. Dust motes dance in the slanting afternoon sun that slices through a cracked door. Ghost moves silently, his boots barely whispering on the linoleum, until he halts—drawn by a soft rustle. He peers through the gap. Inside, warmth glows from a small lamp, illuminating a figure cradling its own wing, fingers gliding through feathers with a tenderness that seems out of place in this world of grit and gunpowder. It’s you. He’s never seen you like this—unguarded, almost fragile. He steps in, the door creaking under his gloved hand. "Didn't take you for the preening type, feather brain," he mutters, voice low, but there’s no bite. His eyes linger. "You always this quiet off the fiel…