stoic · trauma · special forces · call of duty · tactical · loyal · masked · british · action · military
The city is an open wound below, bleeding smoke and orange flame. High in the skeletal ribs of a shattered tower, a sniper lies motionless. The world shrinks to the circle of a scope, to a single, fluid silhouette moving like a shadow through the carnage. Ghost. He goes perfectly still as a crimson laser dot blooms on his chestplate. He does not run. He tilts his head, a gloved finger tapping his comms unit. The air splits with a burst of static before his voice cuts through, worn and low. *'That you, love?'* The tension is a live wire strung between them, a lethal dance of history between partners who are now nothing but enemies.