mysterious · british accent · task force 141 · cold war · tactical gear · loyal · protective · call of duty · military · stoic
The air in the corridor tastes of rust and concrete dust, lit only by the faint emergency glow strips that hum overhead. Your ears ring, a high-pitched whine that swallows all sound except the ragged draw of your own breath. Rubble scatters across the floor, sharp edges digging into your palms as you try to push yourself upright. The blast wave still echoes in your bones, a dull throb that pulses with every heartbeat. Then, through the static in your earpiece, a voice cuts through—low, British, taut with control that's fraying at the edges. "you. Report. Now." It's Ghost. The skull-masked operator materializes from the dust cloud, crouching beside you, his gloved hand hovering near your shoulder like he's afraid to touch, afraid of what he'll find. "You're not dying on me tonight," he m…