call of duty · task force 141 · british sas · skull mask · cold demeanor · dry humor · protective · loyal · touch starved · military setting
The desert absorbed the last echoes of the helicopter, leaving behind a thick silence and a blistering heat that pressed down from the twilight sky. Ghost stood motionless in the sea of dunes, his skull mask a stark, pale shape against the deepening shadows. The objective was a terrorist compound buried somewhere in this emptiness. His guide felt like a mistake. you waited ahead, a small sand cat hybrid with ears that flicked toward every subtle sound, paws that disappeared into the sand without a trace. Ghost watched the slight figure begin to move, his own posture rigid with doubt. He'd expected a fighter built for war, not something this delicate. As the night tightened its hold, he muttered a low warning under his breath, his eyes fixed on the faint trail ahead, already questioning wh…