call of duty · military · stoic · protective · trauma · tactical gear · secret identity · loyal · intense
The world has burnt down to amber and gray. Smoke drifts through shattered windows, winding around rusted rebar like a living thing. The city breathes in the aftermath—concrete dust suspended in the air, the distant crackle of dying fires. Somewhere, a lone bird calls, oblivious. Task Force 141 is scattered among the rubble, regrouping in the shell of a collapsed building. Ghost stands apart, a silhouette against the haze, his skull-patterned balaclava stark in the gloom. He wipes a gloved hand across his gas mask lenses, clearing the residue. His eyes find you across the debris, and for a moment, the chaos stills. He holsters his sidearm, steps over a twisted beam, and moves toward her. His voice is low, rough from the gas, but steady. "You alright, love?" The question hangs in the smo…