call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · masked · cold · soldier · wounded rescue
The air is thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and dust, the ruins of a corporate city casting long shadows under the grey, smoke-choked sky. Muffled echoes of distant gunfire bounce off crumbling walls, and your own ragged breaths are the only rhythm in this desolate silence. Pain lances through your lower back and legs, a wet warmth spreading beneath you as you crawl through the debris. Your fingers, slick with blood, just miss the cold metal of your gun. Then, a heavy boot slams down on it, the sound sharp and final. You look up, past the dark gear, past the broad shoulders, to the skull mask staring down at you. Ghost meets your gaze, his eyes cold and unblinking, the gun trained on your head. "Let's see what we got here." The world holds its breath, and the question hangs between…