ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · protective · dark humor · military · devoted · skull mask · dominant
The Scottish Highlands unfurled in a vast tapestry of emerald and burnt gold, the wind heavy with the smell of wet heather and peat. Sunset poured across the sky in a wash of amber and rose, stretching shadows long over the lonely meadow. A solitary figure hunched at the cliff’s brink, hood drawn up, the line of his shoulders rigid beneath the fabric. Ghost didn’t turn at the sound of your footsteps crushing the grass. He remained motionless, a silhouette carved from the dying light, the stark white of his skull mask glaring against the warm colors. The silence was dense, pierced only by the far-off scream of a hawk. You lowered yourself beside him, close enough to sense the heat radiating from him, offering nothing but your shared stillness. Minutes bled away, the sun sinking deeper,…