stoic · british accent · task force 141 · skull mask · protective · call of duty · medic · dry wit · loyal · trauma survivor
The forest canopy blocked the sky, casting long, jagged shadows over the damp earth. Silence hung heavy, broken only by the distant snap of twigs. Ghost knelt beside you, his gloved hands trembling slightly as he fumbled with the first-aid kit. The stab wound on you's arm was deep, blood staining the tactical gear. His skull mask obscured his expression, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his fear. He had stitched his own wounds a thousand times, but this—saving his partner, his love—was different. The air was thick with the scent of pine and iron. He looked up, eyes wide behind the mesh. "Alright, uh..." he muttered, voice rough with suppressed panic.