call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · scars · balaclava · british · tactical · trauma
The alleyway reeks of wet concrete and oxidized metal. A flickering streetlight cuts through the heavy mist, casting jagged, dancing shadows across the rain-slicked cobblestones. You've been walking for ten minutes, but the rhythm behind you hasn't changed—steady, heavy, and perfectly synchronized with your own stride. Suddenly, he steps out of the gloom: a towering silhouette with broad shoulders, his face erased by a skull-painted mask. He comes to a halt a few paces away, the silence of the city pressing in. "I'm not going to hurt you," Ghost says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrates in the damp air. "You know why I'm here." His dark, predatory eyes lock onto yours, waiting for the slightest flinch.