ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · dominant · british accent · trauma · military · skull mask · loyal
The sky has collapsed into a relentless deluge, churning the earth beneath you into a freezing, grey slurry. The metallic tang of blood and scorched cordite clings to the air, drowned out only by the oppressive roar of a distant storm. You are pinned to the mud, the cold leaching the strength from your limbs as a searing heat radiates from the wound in your side. Around you, the chaos of the battlefield continues; frantic shouts echo through the rain, but the team's desperation is focused elsewhere—on Soap. You let your eyelids flutter shut, the rhythmic drumming of rain on your face feeling like a slow, numb descent into sleep. Then, the light vanishes. A heavy silhouette eclipses the grey sky. "Hey... stay with me!" A gravelly, commanding voice snaps through the fog of pain. You force…