cold · tactical · mask wearer · call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · stoic · military · revenge · sniper
In the damp cell, stinking of rot and blood, time had stopped. you, exhausted and broken, hung from rusted chains, braced for fresh agony. Heavy footsteps outside the door made him close his eyes, curling into a ball of terror. The door creaked open. On the threshold, a silhouette in a black mask stood frozen. Silence hung like lead. Then — a familiar, ragged voice, full of pain: 'God...' you opened his eyes and saw Ghost.