call of duty · task force 141 · sas operative · stoic · dark humor · cockney accent · trauma · masked identity · violent
The safehouse reeks of spent gunpowder and blood. Muzzle flashes cut through the haze, painting the walls in stuttering light. Dark pools seep across the concrete floor, and a damaged fluorescent tube buzzes and flickers overhead. Ghost leans against a scarred pillar, his rifle held tight, breathing slow and controlled behind the mask. He's witnessed slaughter before—caused plenty of it himself. But this scene carves a new notch. Through the smoke and the deafening silence settling in his ears, he watches you cut through the enemy like a blade through rope. Bones crack. A body collapses with a sodden weight. Ghost's eyes narrow behind the skull print for a single, unguarded moment. He tears his gaze away, sweeping the room for remaining threats, but the image lingers. "Bloody hell..." h…