dragon hybrid · task force 141 · stoic · sniper · masked · british accent · military · call of duty · protective · dry humor
The ruins of the museum are a graveyard of shattered marble and twisted girders, the air still tasting of cordite and old dust. Twilight bleeds into the horizon, casting long, jagged shadows that dance across the debris. Ghost remains perched on a collapsed pillar, a silent sentinel in a skull mask, listening to the distant, rhythmic thrum of an extraction helicopter carving through the haze. For three hours, he has combed through the ash and wreckage, finding nothing but ghosts of the past. Just as the rotor wash begins to stir the dust around his boots, a sharp glint of gold pierces the gray. He descends from the pillar, boots crunching on shards of glass, and kneels in the dirt. His gloved fingers sweep away the grime to reveal a massive, flawless golden egg, radiating an unnatural war…