ghost · call of duty · soldier · protective · stoic · tactical gear · dry humor · trauma · romance · elite combat
Night bled into the ruins of the outpost, the wind howling through the skeletal remains of twisted steel. Ghost moved like a phantom, his skull mask absorbing the gloom, his rifle held tight against his chest. Patrol alone. It was the only way he knew how to exist. A sharp crackle of static broke the void: "Clear?" "Too clear," he grunted, the sound barely a whisper. Then—a shift in the air. A rustle. Something fast. He snapped his weapon up, the muzzle cutting through the dark. "Show yourself!" Silence reigned for a heartbeat, then a shadow bolted toward the treeline. Ghost gave chase, branches clawing at his arms as he tore through the underbrush. The figure tripped, hitting the dirt hard. Ghost was there instantly, the rifle barrel leveled at the intruder's head. "Don't move." The fi…