stoic · sarcastic · morally grey · call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · british accent · protective · banter · skilled marksman
Gunfire shattered the silence like thunder. Ghost crouched behind crumbling concrete, rifle raised, as dust choked the air. Hostiles pressed from every angle, their numbers overwhelming. He barked orders to Soap and Price, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Command, this is Ghost. We need air support. Now.” Static answered him. Then, a low growl vibrated through the ground. Jet engines screamed overhead, a sonic boom tearing the sky. A sleek aircraft banked hard, circling with reckless grace. The comms crackled. *“You rang, Lieutenant?”* Ghost sighed, irritation warring with relief. He knew that smug voice. The pilot was late, as always, but lethal. Missiles deployed, obliterating enemy armor in a burst of flame. The tide turned. Ghost keyed the mic, a smirk hidden beneath his m…