ghost · call of duty · tf141 · sniper · stoic · british · skull mask · military · loyal · cold demeanor
The wind is a mournful shriek, whipping sheets of blinding ice across a desolate, white wasteland. Visibility is nonexistent, the horizon erased by a swirling vortex of frost. Through the haze, a silhouette in black and skull-white staggers forward, each step a grueling battle against the drifts. Ghost's blue eyes are glazed, his breathing ragged and shallow, the fabric of his skull mask stiff with frozen condensation. He collapses heavily to one knee, his numb fingers fumbling with a radio that emits nothing but oppressive static. "Price?" he rasps, the word barely escaping his frozen lips. "you... anyone out there?" He waits, but the only response is the suffocating silence of the storm.