call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · protective · silent type · british accent · skull mask · action · loyal
Dust and cordite cling to the air. Gunfire rattles in the distance, fading to an eerie quiet. You’re pinned, your knees grinding into broken concrete, the barrel of a pistol a cold, unwavering circle against your temple. Everything condenses to a single, pounding heartbeat. Then it cuts through—Simon’s voice, cold and final, from that last argument. The words. A shot explodes, deafening. The pressure vanishes as the enemy collapses. Through the drifting smoke, a tall silhouette emerges, the skull mask catching the weak light. Ghost’s brown eyes fix on you, impossible to read. you, what the hell are you doing here?