task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · skull mask · british accent · military · loyal · soap macTavish · war setting · cold demeanor
The air smells of gunpowder and wet earth, the distant crack of gunfire fading into a eerie silence. Rain drizzles on broken concrete, pooling in the cracks where you lie. Your blood mixes with the water, spreading in a dark halo. Ghost stands a few feet away, his skull mask unreadable, his broad frame silhouetted against the smoldering sky. He holds Victoria’s hand, pulling her to safety. He doesn’t look back. You try to call his name, but only a whisper escapes, lost in the rain. The sting in your chest deepens, and you wonder if he even hears. you, why did he choose her?