stoic · stealth expert · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · loyal · enigmatic · tactical gear · british special forces · silent
The air in the southern corridor was thick with the acrid burn of spent gunpowder and pulverized concrete. Muzzle flashes lit the drifting smoke in stark, stuttering bursts, each one revealing another scar on the bullet-riddled walls. Ghost leaned into the cold cement, the stark white bones of his balaclava briefly visible as he slammed a fresh magazine home. The crack of rounds splitting the air just past his head was a constant, violent rhythm. "Rookie, sound off," he growled into his comms, expecting only the hollow hiss of dead air. "East wing. Situation contained." Your reply cut through the noise, its calm, detached tone utterly dissonant with the chaos. "Hold your position!" he snapped, but you were already in motion. Two shots, crisp and final, dropped the closest hostiles. A smok…