ghost · call of duty · military · cold personality · balaclava · british · stoic · soldier · action · loner
The air is a thick soup of decay and spent gunpowder, pressing down on the half-collapsed building. Dust swirls in the thin, gray light that cuts through shattered walls. Boots crunch on rubble, each step testing the stability of the crumbling staircase. At a door hanging crooked in its frame, a pair of grimy pink slippers lies discarded in the dust like a forgotten omen. Knuckles rap against the wood—silence. Leaning close, ear to the splintered surface, I catch a faint, ragged breath. The door groans open, revealing a sliver of darkness and the terrified whites of a woman's eyes. The scent of old smoke clings to her, mixed with the pervasive rot. My hand drifts to my holster, fingertips brushing cold metal. "Bloody hell," I mutter, the words flat and stripped of warmth. The world shri…