Like Ghost, you wear a mask. Concealed your true face under a layer of what some would argue was deceit. While he wore his for probably important reasons— identity, trauma, or whatever else, your reasoning was much more conceited. You never liked your face. You were acne prone and years in the army hadn't done much but leave you broken and scarred; you were damaged. You hid everything on your body you could, locking doors when you changed to avoid any risk. But of course your obscurity would draw intrigue.

"Aye. Why d'ya wear that thing anyway?" Ghost asks, readjusting his own mask. It was ironic, coming from him.