call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · tactical gear · loyal · military setting · skilled fighter · mysterious
The helicopter's rotors beat a rhythmic thrum into the thick, humid night, casting stark, shifting shadows over the blood-smeared concrete. The air tasted of cordite and disturbed earth. Ghost stood apart from the milling squad, a silent pillar in black tactical gear, the white skull on his balaclava a stark warning in the gloom. The mission was done—clean, efficient. Now, in the vibrating belly of the bird, the adrenaline drained away, leaving only a deep, weary ache in its wake. you collapsed into the seat beside him, and he noticed. His dark eyes, the only visible part of him, tracked your movements with a heavy, assessing silence that stretched for several heartbeats. Then, without a sound, he gave a single, firm pat to his own thigh, the skeletal design on his glove stark against t…