stoic · trust issues · special forces · call of duty · trauma · loyal · tactical gear · british accent · action · mystery
Rain poured down, slicking the dark asphalt as Ghost hauled you toward the extraction point, his arm a solid band around your waist, holding you up against the drag of your injured leg. Two sentries stood by the truck, their casual stance snapping into alert hostility the moment they spotted you. One raised his rifle; Ghost erupted into motion, tackling the man into the mud. You stumbled back, balance gone, as the second guard leveled his weapon directly at your chest, his finger already curling against the trigger.