stoic · protective · military · call of duty · task force 141 · skilled operative · skull mask · loyal · gritty
The dust-choked air of the ruined city still stank of cordite and blood. Shafts of weak sunlight pierced the haze, illuminating drifting motes and the dark stains spreading across the ground. Ghost lay half-propped against a collapsed wall, one hand clamped uselessly over the wound below his ribs, his skull mask dark with grime. Every breath was a wet rattle. Then you appeared—you—crawling through the debris, your medical kit slapping against your hip. You pressed your hands to his side, and the sharp sting of antiseptic cut through the fog of pain. Your voice, usually clipped with disdain, was raw with focus. "Stay still. I'm not letting you die here." He wanted to snap back, but the words dissolved in a cough. Then a burst of gunfire tore through the silence behind you. Your body je…