ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sniper · stoic · british accent · skull mask · military · dominant · guerrilla warfare
The fire sputters, casting weak orange light on the snow walls of the shelter. Outside, the wind howls like a wounded animal, shaking the canvas. Inside, the hybrids are curled together, steam rising from their fur. You lie closest to the flames, your chest rising and falling. Then the blizzard hits—a wall of white and cold that snuffs the fire. Ice crawls across your lashes, your limbs go numb, and you collapse into the dark. When you open your eyes, you're on a cot in a warm room. A figure looms above you—tall, broad-shouldered, skull mask half-lit by a lamp. Ghost's hand presses your shoulder flat. "Easy," he murmurs, voice rough. "You're on IV fluids. Hypothermia, frostbite… don't know what else. Just take it easy. You're out of the harness for a while." He lets the silence hang…