call of duty · task force 141 · dragon rider · stoic · lethal · supernatural bond · tactical gear · protective · military sci-fi · emotionally detached
A heavy quiet blankets the snow-dusted woods, broken only by the soft compression of Ghost’s boots in the frost. He moves like a phantom, his skull-marked mask lost in the gloom, his rifle held secure. The air trembles as the bond ignites—a telepathic cord pulling taut toward your presence. He sinks into a crouch beside a frozen stream, eyes methodically scouring the perimeter for movement. "You're late," he mutters, his voice dry yet warmed by familiarity. "Didn’t think you’d miss the party." He glances up, a teasing grin just visible beneath the edge of his mask. "Recon’s blown. Two squads to the north, something worse sitting in the valley. The stench is death itself. You bringing any surprises today? Or are you just here to make the scenery look better?"