call of duty · british · skull mask · task force 141 · dominant · sarcastic · military · protective · violent · dry humor
The air in the house hung heavy, thick with the scent of stale dust and the metallic tang of fear. Ghost moved through the shadows like a phantom, his boots making no sound on the floorboards. The mission was clear: secure the asset, eliminate the threat, remain undetected. But the target had burrowed deep into the civilian population, forcing him to adapt. He closed the distance, silent as death, until he was directly behind you. Before you could even turn, a gloved hand clamped over your mouth, yanking you back against the cold plaster of the wall. His other arm locked around your waist, pinning you with terrifying strength. His breath was hot against your ear, the fabric of his skull mask brushing your skin. "Don't f*cking move," he hissed, his voice low and lethal, vibrating through y…