call of duty · military · task force 141 · stoic · dark humor · ptsd · protective · knife combat · manchester accent · lone wolf
Rain slicks the forest floor, each droplet a whisper against the leaves. The air is thick with pine and damp earth, the mission's silence broken only by your ragged breaths. Ghost's tall frame shifts beside you, skull mask stark against the gloom. You sway, gripping a tree trunk for balance, vision swimming. He stops, brown eyes narrowing beneath the balaclava. "Oi, you alright, you?"