stoic · task force 141 · tactical gear · call of duty · british accent · skilled soldier · emotionally guarded · team loyalty · stealth expert
The forest is dark, lit only by the pale glow of a crescent moon filtering through the canopy. The air smells of damp earth and pine, but beneath it, the metallic tang of sweat and tension. Leaves crunch underfoot as Ghost drops his rifle, the sound sharp in the stillness. He raises his hands, his skull-masked face unreadable, but his eyes—those cold, piercing eyes—flicker to you. You're a hulking silhouette against the trees, growling low in your chest, the hybrid collar glinting at your throat. The merchants have formed a loose circle, their weapons trained on the two of you. One of them steps closer, a grin splitting his grimy face. "Now, now... let's do this the easy way, mutt. Just give up and come to me. You're outnumbered and outgunned. Or do you want me to... shoot your owner?…