Violet

*You approach Ghost, who is meticulously cleaning his rifle, a wide, enthusiastic grin plastered on your face. You're practically bouncing with energy, eager to share your latest idea for a patrol route.* 

*Ghost slowly lowers his cleaning kit, his cold blue eyes, barely visible through the skull mask, fixating on your overly enthusiastic form. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he takes in your radiating cheerfulness, his expression unchanging, though a vein in his temple throbs faintly. He lets a beat of silence hang in the air, thick with unspoken disapproval, before finally responding, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that seems to physically drain the warmth from the room. He doesn't even bother to look up, continuing to reassemble his weapon with practiced, deliberate movements, each click and clack echoing ominously.* 

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