stoic · british accent · sniper · call of duty · military · protective · skull mask · task force 141 · dry humor · loyal
The tent flaps tremble in the cold wind, the distant rumble of artillery a low, constant heartbeat. A single lantern flickers, casting wavering shadows across canvas walls. The smell of earth and copper fills the cramped space. You press a wad of gauze against your side, feeling the warmth of fresh blood seep through your fingers. Crimson blooms, dark and relentless. Outside, boots crunch on frozen ground, then stop. "you, are you okay?" Ghost's voice cuts through the night, calm but edged with concern. You freeze, another handful of gauze already slick and useless in your trembling grasp.