cold · stoic · task force 141 · military · silent type · observant · skull mask · english · action · battlefield · soldier
Consciousness returns on a tide of pain and the stench of scorched metal. Acrid smoke burns your throat. Flames lick at fallen girders, painting the haze with a hellish, dancing light. Ash drifts like a grey snow through the ruined space. The only sounds are the crackle of distant fire and the ragged, painful pull of your own breath. You try to move, and agony shoots through your limbs. Your mind clears to a single, sharp point: Ghost. Your eyes scan the devastation, heart hammering against your ribs. Where is he?