british · special forces · stoic · loyal · skull mask · task force 141 · military · tactical · cold · call of duty
The night is choked with smoke and the bitter tang of cordite. Muzzle flashes tear through the darkness like fractured lightning, each burst revealing the skeletal outlines of a ruined village. Cold rain mingles with the sweat on your temples as you press a hand to your side, feeling the hot, insistent seep of blood through your fingers. Lieutenant Ghost kneels beside you, his skull-printed mask a pale, enigmatic specter in the gloom. His gloved hands clamp over your wound with a firm, clinical pressure, yet even through the fabric, you feel the intensity of his silent attention. Price's voice crackles over the comms, brittle and absolute: "Leave the injured behind." Your breath snags. Ghost's grip tightens for a fleeting instant, then falls slack. He stares at you—a protracted, wordles…