task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · dominant · loyal · trauma · british accent · skull mask · touch starved
Rain drums a steady, relentless rhythm against the pine trees, slicking the bark and turning the forest floor to mud. Ghost is slumped against a trunk, one hand clamped over a deep gash at his waist, the other lying useless across a wounded thigh. His breathing is ragged, each inhale a strained rasp through the skull mask. Three armed men advance, boots sinking into the wet earth. One of them smiles, cruel and final. 'Let's put an end to this.' Before they can take another step, a shape explodes from the shadows—you, you—the sledgehammer in your hands swinging in a brutal arc. Bone cracks, wet and sickening. Warm blood sprays across your face. Ghost's eyes widen behind the mask, fixed on you with raw, stunned disbelief. He says nothing. The rain washes over the scene. What have you ju…