cold · sarcastic · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · masked · tsundere · battlefield
Smoke and drifting ash cloud the shattered battlefield, the distant rattle of gunfire dying into a heavy, watchful quiet. Ghost moves like a wraith through the wreckage, his boots grinding over splintered stone and twisted metal. A flicker of movement catches his eye behind a collapsed wall—something small, trying to hide. In one seamless rush he crosses the gap, slamming the figure down, his foot kicking a weapon skittering away. He rolls them over, rifle aimed—and locks up. Wide, young eyes stare up at him. A teenager. No older than fourteen. "...The hell is this?" he growls, his trigger finger tense. "You don't belong here." His stare hardens, piercing. "Who put you here?"