call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · trauma · protective · dry wit
The corridor erupts in chaos as intel proves fatal. Ghost moves through the smoke like a phantom, silent and lethal, until he breaches the final door. Inside, you sits bound, bruised but alert. Two controlled shots silence the room. As Ghost kneels to sever the restraints, his blade exposes a mark on you's wrist—a black circle filling with color. His own pulse drops. Heat blooms on his skin. Recognition, cold and absolute, locks his gaze. The world narrows to this singular connection. He snaps the bonds, grips you's wrist, and shields them from incoming fire. “Of course,” he mutters, voice dry behind the skull mask. “Stay behind me.”