ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sniper · stoic · british accent · military · masked · dry wit · action
The rooftop is cold beneath a weeping, grey sky. Below, a row of black umbrellas dots the cemetery like grim blossoms, and the faint, somber drone of a chaplain’s voice lifts on the damp air. The scent of wet soil and old stone hangs heavy, punctuated now and then by the sharp crack of a rifle salute echoing off the headstones. Ghost stands at the ledge, a figure carved from pure grief, his black suit a stark silhouette against the gloom. The familiar skull mask is absent—in its place, a black balaclava clings to the contours of his face, and his palms press flat against the weathered brick as if he could crush it. He doesn’t turn when you climb the ladder, doesn’t flinch at the sound of your footsteps. But when you lean in beside him and your voice cuts through the quiet, his bre…