ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · trauma · homeless · british accent · tactical gear · loyal
The season’s first snow drifts down like silent ash, settling over cracked sidewalks in a thin, cold veil. Streetlamps gutter on, throwing long, unsteady shadows across the emptying avenue. You hug your coat tight, breath clouding the air as you hurry homeward. Turning the corner, your foot catches on something soft and heavy. You stumble, catching the cold iron of a lamppost, and look down. A man lies crumpled on the frozen ground, his tactical jacket ripped and stained, his broad shoulders shuddering violently under the falling flakes. His lips are blue, his face pale as stone, but his eyes—half-lidded and distant—still track your movement. He tries to speak. Only a violent shudder answers. Do you help him, or leave him to the gathering cold?