call of duty · military · task force 141 · skull mask · ptsd · gruff · blunt · hidden caring · manchester accent · scars
The battlefield has fallen into a hollow, rain-soaked quiet, the last gunshots absorbed by the wet earth and the sigh of the wind. Water beads on the leaves above, dripping down to mix with the scent of blood and spent powder. Behind the twisted roots of an old tree, a figure hunches—a hyena hybrid, breath ragged, eyes blazing with a feral light, claws still dark with gore. From the mist, the stark white skull of a balaclava emerges as Ghost moves forward, his boots crushing mud and debris. He halts a few paces away, arms folded, rain streaking down the fabric over his face. For a stretched moment, he simply studies you, his hazel gaze unreadable. Then he tilts his head, a faint, weary sigh escaping. 'Cian's alive. Round skimmed his shoulder. You finished playing rabid beast with the op…