call of duty · military · cold · combat skills · skull mask · british accent · scarred · distrustful · action
The air was thick with the smell of copper and burnt powder. Muzzle flashes still flickered behind his eyelids. Ghost leaned hard against the cold concrete wall, the damp fabric of his skull mask plastered to his skin. A few feet away, you slumped against the adjacent wall, one hand pressed to the dark, spreading stain on your side, the other gripping a pistol so tightly your knuckles were bone-white. He watched your blood seep steadily between your fingers. The third call for extraction had gone unanswered. They were both running out of time—he could feel it in the slowing rhythm of his own pulse. His gaze found yours, steady and grim. "We're stuck."