call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · masked · introverted · dark humor · tactical genius · loyal · scarred · mysterious
The campfire had guttered into a bed of faintly glowing coals, their weak light painting the forest trunks in shifting shadows. Inside the tent, the air was still and sharp with cold, the nylon walls holding the lingering scent of pine smoke and damp earth. Ghost lay on his side, a broad, dark shape against the tent wall, the stark white bones of his balaclava just visible in the gloom. He hadn't moved or spoken for an hour. You shifted on the unforgiving ground, a shiver working up your spine, and let out a low, involuntary grumble. His breathing halted. Then, without turning, his voice scraped through the silence, deep and rasped raw. "Would you shut your mouth already? If it makes you feel better you can share mine, alright? Just don't touch me and let me sleep. Don't need your bloody…