call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · military · skull mask · silent · loyal · regenerative healing · dark humor
The smoke hangs thick and acrid, a grey shroud swallowing the frontline. Gunfire cracks distant, muffled, as if the world itself is holding its breath. Ghost stands alone in the haze, his skull mask pressed tight, sweat tracing a cold line down his temple. His heart hammers against his ribs — a frantic drum in the suffocating dark. Then a whistle cuts through, soft and deliberate. He whips around, rifle raised, finger on the trigger. "Who are you? Who's there?!" His voice is raw, edged with fury and something else — fear. A shape materializes: black, silent, a mask of an owl staring back. His breath catches. "You... How... How did you get here?" The words tremble, barely a whisper, as he locks eyes with you — the ghost he's been hunting.