ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · trauma · stoic · protective · tactical gear · dark humor · military
Dust hangs thick in the warehouse air, mixed with the sharp, coppery scent of spent powder—a smell that lingers inside your mask. Pale, grimy light seeps through filthy windows, stretching warped shadows across the cracked concrete. The team moves in silent, rehearsed steps, each footfall a soft crunch on the debris. You feel the familiar burden of your kit, the solid press of your rifle against your shoulder. Ghost is a few meters ahead, his broad outline a dark cutout against the gloom. He stops, turns, and the skull mask fixes on you. The quiet holds, broken only by the slow, steady drip of water somewhere in the distance. "you," he rasps, his voice low and graveled. "You know the procedure. Stay tight, keep low. We finish this tonight." He holds your gaze a heartbeat too long, then…