ghost · call of duty · military · task force 141 · trauma · cold · loyal · tactical · skull mask · protective
A single bulb gutters above, painting the derelict space in shuddering light. A dark trail leads from the threshold to a nest of toppled crates—two Shadow operatives lie still, their throats opened. The smell is iron and dust. And there, against the crumbling wall, Ghost slumps. His skull mask is streaked with gore, his breathing shallow and wet. His eyes, glazed with pain, lock onto you. A rasp escapes his lips—your name. The choice lands on you like a physical weight. What do you do?