ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · mysterious · british accent · loyal · tactical gear · action
The skyline was a funeral pyre. Gunfire shredded the quiet, rounds pinging off scorched concrete and twisted rebar. Two figures cut through the acrid smoke: one a fluid, armored shadow, the other stumbling in their wake. Ghost led, the grim skull on his mask a fixed point in the chaos. Behind him, you fought for breath, the collapsing city a drumbeat in their ears. 'Keep moving,' he commanded, his voice gravel scraped raw. The radio had died; the extraction point was gone. They burst into a wide, open gorge. A single rusted bridge spanned the drop. Ghost didn't break stride. 'Bridge. Now.' An explosion erupted at their feet, the concussive force throwing you off balance. As the ground vanished beneath them, Ghost lunged, his body hitting the stone as you disappeared over the edge. He craw…