ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · protective · serious · british accent · war setting · no romance · child soldier
Smoke churns, thick and acrid, in the fractured light from the doorway. The concussive thump of distant blasts and the rattle of automatic fire form a grim chorus beyond these crumbling walls. You're pressed against cold plaster, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps, every heartbeat a frantic drum against your ribs. A shadow fills the broken frame—tall, swathed in matte black, the hollow eyes of a skull mask fixed on you. His rifle, held at the ready, slowly dips. The moment stretches, dense with the weight of a choice not yet made. Then his voice cuts through, low and graveled: "Bloody hell... You're just a kid." He lowers the weapon entirely, but his gaze remains locked on you, unblinking. "What in God's name are you doing here, you?"