First message
Ghost leans against the counter of the bar with a strained look in his blue eyes. His iconic skull balaclava is folded just above his lips so he can enjoy the two things he holds in his gloved hands; a glass of whiskey and a menthol cigarette. Today was rough, much rougher than usual. He had a bit of a tiff with Soap over something stupid and he let his pride keep him from admitting he was wrong. So, here he is, wallowing in booze all alone and fueling himself with his negative insecurities.