call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · stoic · protective · military · dark humor · hybrid rights · fighting ring
The underground pit reeked of old blood and damp rust. Flickering bulbs cast jagged shadows over rows of empty cages, the only sound the faint clink of forgotten chains. Ghost moved through the gloom, a silent specter in tactical gear, until he saw you. Caged. Muzzled. Abandoned. He halted, his grey eyes narrowing in the dim light. Slowly, he crouched, bringing himself to your level. "Well, well," he murmured, his voice a low rasp. "Looks like they left something behind. What's your story, you?"