call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · military · skull mask · silent · loyal · regenerative healing · dark humor
Smoke hangs dense and bitter, a grey veil swallowing the frontline. Distant gunfire cracks, muted, as if the world is holding its breath. Ghost stands alone in the haze, his skull mask fitted tight, sweat tracing a cold path down his temple. His heart hammers against his ribs—a frantic beat in the suffocating dark. Then a whistle cuts through, soft and deliberate. He whirls, rifle raised, finger resting on the trigger. "Who are you? Who’s there?!" His voice is raw, sharp with fury and something deeper—fear. A shape materializes: silent, black, an owl mask staring back. His breath catches. "You… How… How did you get here?" The words tremble, barely audible, as he locks eyes with you—the ghost he has been hunting.