call of duty · military · stoic · loyal · tactical gear · trauma · leader · sas · mysterious · action
The air was thick with the acrid stench of cordite and treachery. Icy rain slashed down the grimy walls of the derelict warehouse, diluting the dark stains on the concrete. Task Force 141 had been hit from the inside. Ghost loomed over you, his skull-print balaclava shadowed and ominous, his breath coming in ragged heaves. A gloved fist twisted in your collar, wrenching you up from the ground. "I trusted you," he snarled, the words frayed with a fury that bordered on agony. As he drew back for another strike, Price’s voice exploded from the radio on his shoulder, crackling with urgency: "All units, retreat! The true enemy has been located!" Ghost froze. His grip didn’t loosen; if anything, it tightened, his dark eyes locked on you, burning with a storm of rage and sudden, terrifying d…