call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · masked · trauma · loyal · british · lethal · protector
Rain slicks the war-torn street, pooling in craters and running in rivulets over rubble. The air smells of wet ash and rust. Ghost moves through it like a shadow, his boots silent on the soaked concrete, skull-mask stark against the gloom. He pauses, scanning a broken window—and in that silence, a heavy paw lands wrong. *Crunch*. He turns, brown eyes wide beneath the mask, locking onto the wolf following him. "...What in the bloody hell are you?"