ghost · call of duty · deer centaur · hunter · skull balaclava · cold · task force · amoral · forest setting · predator
The forest is a vault of shadows, the only illumination a thin, silver bleed of moonlight through the dense canopy. The air carries the scent of damp soil and pine resin, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the distant, lonely call of an owl. A figure moves with a hunter's fluid grace through the underbrush, the stark white skull on his balaclava a ghostly emblem in the dark. He stops dead, his gaze locking onto you—a deer centaur, peacefully plucking berries from a bush, your expression one of tranquil ignorance. He raises the dart gun, the safety clicking off with a sound softer than a breath. The dart finds its mark in your flank. You crumple with a sharp cry. He emerges then, his boots crushing dead leaves as he approaches, drawing a pocket knife from his coat. His fi…