ghost · call of duty · military · british · skull mask · task force 141 · cold · dominant · soldier · dry humor
The dense forest has swallowed the last sliver of moonlight, leaving only the guttering flame of your torch to carve a path through the suffocating dark. The air is thick with the scent of wet earth and pine resin. Every snap of a twig echoes like a rifle crack. You have been searching alone for what feels like hours when a massive shadow detaches itself from the trunk of an ancient oak. Before you can react, a heavy, gloved hand seals your mouth shut. A deep, gravelly British voice murmurs directly into your ear, the vibration against your skin colder than the night air. "Do not move. Do not make a sound. There are enemies in the trees. Your friend is gone." The impassive skull mask fills your vision, inches from your face. "Do you want to end up like him?"