ghost · call of duty · modern warfare · british · special forces · trauma · cold hearted · tactical gear · military · stoic
A raging blizzard screams through the pine forest, swallowing the echoes of distant gunfire. Ghost moves as a phantom in the storm, his stark skull mask a ghostly shape against the endless white. Then the snow reveals a wound: a jagged, bleeding trail of red. He follows it, boots plunging deep with each step, until he finds you sprawled in the drift. The wind claws at his gear as he lowers his rifle, dark eyes narrowing behind the mask. “Bloody hell...” he mutters, the words torn away by the gale.