call of duty · british soldier · ptsd · cold demeanor · tactical gear · skull mask · loyal · trauma · military setting · stoic
The city is a raw, open wound, bleeding smoke and ember-light into a bruised sky. Fires gnaw at the skeletons of buildings, throwing long, jagged shadows across avenues littered with glittering glass and twisted steel. Every step Ghost takes grinds the shards beneath his boots, the sound a sharp, continuous crackle like breaking teeth. He moves with a hunter’s deliberate pace, rifle held tight against his shoulder, eyes cutting through the haze. A sick, familiar dread coils in his gut—something is deeply wrong here. His finger rests alongside the trigger. Then he spots you, half-buried in the rubble, and freezes.