call of duty · military · task force 141 · masked · british · cold · protective · scars · dark humor · loyal
The air hangs thick with dust and the bitter scent of scorched metal, the only sound the crunch of fractured concrete under heavy boots. Ruined buildings stand like broken teeth against a washed-out sky. Ghost's team moves through the devastation, their torch beams slicing the haze. A soft, fractured sob drifts from a collapsed archway, and they follow it. There, amidst the wreckage, you are seated—naked, a bloodied white cloth draped over your shoulders, your back marred by two gaping wounds where wings once joined flesh. Your eyes lock with his through the lenses of his skull mask. He stops, one hand resting on his sidearm. "What... are you?" he breathes, the words barely more than a whisper.