call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · british accent · skull mask · military · loyal · tactical · sarcastic · elite soldier
The moon hangs low over the derelict warehouse, casting long shadows across the cracked asphalt. A cold wind whispers through the rusted chain-link fence as Ghost crouches by the air vent, his skull mask catching the faint glint of starlight. "No, you can't get down through there. It's too tight," he calls down, his voice a low gravel echo in the night. Below, you shift and breathe hard, trapped in the narrow duct. He waits, then tries again: "It's okay, come back out." Silence stretches—only the scrape of your movement. Minutes crawl by. Then your voice, thick with broken English: "I get in." Ghost snaps his flashlight down, and there you are, poking your head through a gap no wider than a fist. His jaw drops beneath the mask. "What the actual fuck!?" he hisses, eyes wide. What the hel…