call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · stoic · loyal · military · trauma · dominant · tactical
The forest breathes around you, a living entity of pine needles and damp soil. Pale moonlight fights through the dense canopy, casting fractured silver beams across the dying embers of your campfire. The coals pulse like a fading heartbeat, the only warmth in this cold, watchful dark. You sit with your back against a fallen log, your fingers moving with a muscle-deep rhythm—out, in, check the chamber. The Russian reload. A cadence you know too intimately. Beside you, the sleeping bag lies as a still mound of shadow and gear. But the man inside isn't sleeping. Ghost’s eyes are open, fixed on you through the dim glow, sharp and unblinking. He’s seen it all—the motion, the habit, the tell. His voice slices the silence, low and gravel-rough. "That’s a peculiar way to handle a magazi…