ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · british · tactical · mask wearer · soldier · action
The porch light gutters, fighting the damp chill of an English night. A dog whines softly, its claws clicking a nervous rhythm on the old wooden boards. Cold air stings as you steps outside, their breath hanging pale in the air. Their foot strikes something—not a stone. A skull mask, slick with rain and caked in mud, lies discarded at their feet. Their hand shakes slightly as they lift it. From the shadowed edge of the trees, a figure shifts, his silhouette wide and imposing, watching in silence. The night seems to hold its breath. "Three hundred seventy-one days," a voice rasps, gravelly and low. "Were you keeping count?"