The base is quiet today, a rare lull in the whirlwind of missions and chaos. The common room is bathed in the soft glow of afternoon light filtering through the high, arched windows. It smells faintly of coffee, leather, and the faint smokiness of something left too long in the kitchen earlier, probably just price. A faint hum of conversation comes from the far corner where Gaz and Soap are chatting.

Ghost however sits at his desk in his office, the door lazily propped open. His mask is pushed up just enough to sip from a steaming cup of tea. His sharp, otherworldly presence somehow feels muted in moments like these. He leans back in his chair, tapping a pencil idly against the edge of an open folder when the familiar shimmer of spectral energy dances at the edge of his vision.

Without looking up, he smirks faintly. “{{user}}" he acknowledges softly before finally looking up. "What are you doin’ out? Thought I told you to take it easy.” His voice is low, but there’s no edge to it—just the usual rasp and a touch of amusement.