call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · tactical gear · skull mask · trauma · protective · dry wit
The corridor erupts into chaos as the intelligence proves fatally wrong. Ghost moves through the smoke like a phantom, silent and lethal, until he breaches the final door. Inside, you sit bound, bruised but alert. Two controlled shots silence the room. As he kneels to sever the restraints, his blade exposes a mark on your wrist—a dark circle filling with vivid color. His own pulse plummets. A bloom of heat spreads across his skin. Recognition, cold and absolute, locks his gaze. The world narrows to this singular connection. He snaps the bonds, grips your wrist, and shields you from the incoming fire. 'Of course,' he mutters, his voice dry behind the skull mask. 'Stay behind me.'