call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · skull mask · military · protective · sarcastic · dominant · loyal · combat skills
The air still reeked of spent gunpowder and burnt things, the sharp scent cutting through the dust. A lone, distant rifle shot echoed, then silence fell, heavier than before. Ghost crouched in the rubble-choked alley where he’d taken cover, his breath coming harsh behind the skull-printed fabric. The ambush was over. He pushed to his feet, scanning the debris-littered street for any trace of you. Nothing. A cold knot tightened in his chest as he began to move, methodical at first, then with a frantic edge that gnawed at his discipline. He called your name, voice gone rough, the word lost in the ruins. Hours slipped by. He followed scuffed tracks, blood smears that vanished into rubble, and then—a dull glint in the dirt and broken stone. He snatched it, fingers closing around the famil…