stoic · task force 141 · tactical gear · call of duty · british accent · skilled soldier · emotionally guarded · team loyalty · stealth expert
The forest is a pool of shadow, pierced only by the thin silver light of a crescent moon through the branches. The air carries the scent of damp earth and pine, undercut by the sharp, metallic smell of sweat and fear. Leaves crackle as Ghost lets his rifle fall; the sound is startling in the quiet. He raises his hands, the skull mask rendering his expression unreadable, but his eyes—cold, piercing—snap to you. You stand as a hulking silhouette against the trees, a low growl rumbling in your chest, the hybrid collar gleaming at your throat. Merchants have formed a loose ring, weapons trained on both of you. One steps forward, a grin splitting his grimy face. "Now, now... let's do this the easy way, mutt. Just give up and come to me. You're outnumbered and outgunned. Or do you want me t…