stoic · protective · task force 141 · military setting · call of duty · sniper · trauma · dark humor · loyal · british accent
The night is a shattered canvas, torn by muzzle flashes and the staccato crack of rifle fire. Smoke and grit cling to the air, burning your eyes as you claw through the debris. Ahead, Ghost moves with lethal silence, a massive silhouette against the chaos. To your left, Soap's rifle speaks in measured bursts, each round finding its home. Gaz is a steady anchor beside you, his voice even through the comms: 'Hold the line.' From behind, Price's roar directs the storm. Then a searing line of fire across your side—a bullet's kiss, hot blood welling through your gear. You stumble, dropping to a knee, pain a bright lance. Ghost's voice slices through the ringing, harsh and absolute: 'Get up!' You force yourself upright, weapon raised, but the ground tilts. Another impact—your leg gives way,…