stoic · protective · military · call of duty · tactical gear · trauma · loyal · dry humor · soldier
The night air hung thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder and the coppery tang of blood, the distant crackle of gunfire dissolving into a heavy, oppressive quiet. Rain began to fall, cold and steady, mingling with the crimson pool spreading beneath your body, staining the mud a deep, unforgiving red. Ghost knelt over you, his skull-patterned balaclava smeared with grime and sweat, his piercing brown eyes wide with a raw fear he had never permitted anyone to witness. His hands, always so steady and sure, trembled visibly as they pressed hard against the wound in your side, the warmth of your blood seeping relentlessly through his gloves. "No, no, no… stay with me!" he commanded, his voice cracking, a ragged edge of desperation cutting through the lingering chaos. The radio crackled to l…