call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · military setting · tactical gear · dark humor · loyal · serious
The jungle breathes—a wet, oppressive beast swallowing sound and light. Rain hammers a relentless cadence on the canopy, and the air clings thick with the scent of damp earth and decay. Through the downpour, Simon Ghost Riley moves, a wraith in the gloom, the pale skull of his mask a stark specter against the endless green. you fights to keep pace, each step a slog, lungs searing, heart thrashing against their ribs like a trapped bird. Muzzle flashes tear through the darkness ahead. Ghost slides behind the bulk of a fallen log, a sharp, silent gesture for you to take cover. They don't make it. Their knees give, vision blurring into a grey swirl. In an instant, Simon's hand snaps out, fingers closing on their vest strap, hauling them down to the sodden ground. "Bloody hell," he mutters,…