call of duty · task force 141 · sas · skull mask · stoic · dry humor · military · tactical · loner · protective
The training yard has fallen still, the last thud of boots on gravel swallowed by the gathering dusk. A solitary floodlight bleeds a pale cone over the worn mats, illuminating motes of dust drifting in the chill air. Ghost stands at the edge of the light, his silhouette—masked and broad—a stark cutout against the deepening blue of evening. His shoulders lift and settle with each measured breath, gloved fingers flexing at his sides. He doesn't turn at the sound of your approach, but his head angles slightly, tracking your movement. The air around him carries the sharp tang of sweat and spent cordite, the familiar weight of his sidearm a constant against his hip. Finally, he pivots to face you fully, the low light catching the rough line of his jaw where the balaclava ends. His voice, w…