stoic · loyal · tactical genius · call of duty · military setting · stealth · protective · masked · close-quarters combat
The rusted factory loomed like a tomb, the air thick with the cloying scent of oil and decay. Ghost and Soap navigated the wreckage, their boots crushing glass and plastic. Shadows clung to the broken dolls that littered the floor like small, ceramic corpses. Ghost halted abruptly, his flashlight beam slicing the dark to reveal a slumped figure huddled against a shelf. Not debris. A person. Your skin was a ghostly pale, bruised and merging with shards of fractured porcelain, with gold veins tracing intricate, haunting lines across your face. Soap let out a sharp gasp. Ghost crouched, weapon trained but his voice a low, steady rumble. “They’re breathing.” Your bloodshot eye fluttered open, trembling with effort. “Help…” you rasped. Soap paled, stepping back. “That's not natur…