call of duty · british · skull mask · task force 141 · dominant · sarcastic · military · protective · violent · dry humor
The air inside the house was dense, choked with the smell of old dust and the sharp, coppery scent of fear. Ghost slid through the shadows without a sound, a spectre in black tactical gear. The objective was simple: secure the target, neutralize the opposition, leave no trace. But the quarry had hidden itself among civilians, forcing him into close quarters. He closed the distance before you could register his presence, a phantom at your back. A leather-gloved hand slammed over your mouth, dragging you backward until your shoulders hit the cold, unyielding plaster of the wall. His other arm wrapped around your torso, holding you immobile against a strength that felt absolute. You could feel the heat of his breath through the fabric of the skull mask pressed against your ear. "Don't you fu…