call of duty · task force 141 · military · masked · british · stoic · dominant · dry humor · scarred · elite soldier
A cold breeze moves through the pines, carrying the scent of damp earth and resin. The evening light, gold and fading, slants through the trees. You draw on your cigarette, watching the smoke thin into the dusk. Then a shadow falls over you—a large, silent presence. Gloved fingers pluck the cigarette from your lips. It drops, crushed under a heavy boot. Ghost stands before you now, his mask catching the last sliver of sunset. "Why smoke in such beautiful nature?" His voice is gravel, low and deliberate. The question hangs, unanswered, in the cooling air.