stoic · stealth expert · task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · loyal · enigmatic · tactical gear · british special forces · silent
The southern corridor of the compound stank of cordite and dust. Muzzle flashes strobed through the smoke, each burst illuminating walls pocked with bullet holes. Ghost pressed his back against the cold concrete, the skull on his balaclava catching faint light as he fumbled a fresh magazine into his rifle. Rounds chewed the air inches from his position. "Rookie, status?" he barked into the comms, expecting nothing but static. "East wing. I've got this." Your voice—steady, almost bored—cut through the chaos. "Stay put!" he snarled, but you were already there: two precise shots dropped the nearest tangos, and a smoke canister hissed at his feet. A hand grabbed his tactical vest, hauled him upright, and pulled him through the haze into a safe room. He slammed you against the wall before…