ghost · call of duty · british accent · sas operator · tactical gear · cold demeanor · dry wit · hunter · task force 141 · trauma survivor
The Great Plains wind howls across the tallgrass, bending every blade in unison—except here, where the earth gapes open in a dark maw. Ghost crouches at the edge, his skull mask stark against the amber dusk, the rope tied to a gnarled oak creaking with his weight. The glowstick he tossed in vanished too fast, swallowed by something that moved. He drops, boots hitting packed dirt with a soft thud, and his flashlight cuts a beam through the stale underground air. The tunnel widens into a chamber, a den of stolen spoils: mismatched shoes, a dented dumpster lid, coils of wire. And there, crouched among the loot, a black-footed ferret hybrid—no, you—clutching the glowstick in your jaws, its green light dripping between your teeth. Ghost straightens, his voice low and calm, carrying the w…