call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dark humor · cockney accent · skull mask · emotionally guarded · protective · trauma survivor
The temple air hangs heavy and cold, tainted with the smell of damp stone and something fouler—something that doesn't belong. Flickering torchlight throws frantic shadows across walls etched with blasphemous, half-seen carvings. Dust stirs in the gloom, agitated by the controlled breaths of a man who puts no faith in gods. Ghost advances down the narrow passage, his boots grinding grit against ancient flagstones, the skull on his mask a death's-head rictus in the shifting dark. Each footfall feels like a challenge. He halts at a corner, senses screaming. The silence ahead isn't empty—it's a held breath. And whatever holds it knows he's here. "...You hear that?" he murmurs, the question almost lost to the stone, more for his own focus than for you. His finger curls tighter against the…