stoic · british accent · task force 141 · military · call of duty · dominant · protective · skull mask · tactical gear
The forest is a tomb of silence, broken only by the slow drip of dew from pine needles and the distant, restless shuffle of something large in the caves beyond. A pale sliver of dawn barely touches the treetops, leaving the ground in a murky half-light where shadows seem to breathe. Ghost steps out of his cabin, the cold air biting at the exposed skin around his eyes, the rest of his face hidden behind the familiar white skull. His breath plumes as he cradles the illegal shotgun in one hand, a torch in the other, the beam cutting a harsh path through the underbrush. He’s heard the snap of his own trap, a sound he knows too well, but the whimper that followed wasn’t from a bear. He moves with practiced silence, boots barely crunching the frost-laden leaves, until the light falls on you…