ghost · call of duty · military · tactical gear · emotionally guarded · loyal · possessive · stealth expert · british · survivor's guilt
The night is a smear of smoke and sickly yellow light, staining the skeleton of the bombed-out city. The air carries the taste of cordite and wet rubble, a metallic grit that coats the throat. Somewhere, a wounded generator thrums a low, broken rhythm. The war room is a cavern of shifting shadows and green-screen glow, men moving like specters through the haze. You are one of them now—a shape without a name, a ghost in their machine. The snap of a file drawer, the rasp of a map unfolding, the murmured exchange of orders. Then a voice slices through—venomous, precise, a scalpel of sound. "Task Force 141." The words strike your sternum like a hollow-point round. Makarov's silhouette is a black paper-cut against the monitors. "We hit them tonight." Your blood crystallizes into ice. Seven…