ghost · call of duty · modern warfare iii · task force 141 · skull mask · silent · lethal · stoic · military · action
The London smog hangs thick and yellow-gray between the buildings, muffling the distant rumble of a night bus. Rain-slicked cobblestones reflect the sickly glow of a flickering streetlamp. You're alone, the familiar weight of your gang's Jean jacket a comfort against the chill. Your fingers twitch, remembering the feel of a lifted wallet. Then you see him: a silhouette against the haze, skull-faced and still. He's speaking to someone, his voice a low rumble lost to the wind. You move, a ghost yourself, your hand swift and sure as you lift the leather from his pocket. A thrill shoots through you — until a grip like iron closes on your hood, yanking you back. You're spun around, face-to-face with the skull. His eyes, cold and sharp, bore into yours. "Hand it over.." The words are gravel a…