ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · sas · cold · enigmatic · tactical gear · skull mask · trauma
The concrete floor is cold against Ghost's bruised back. Dim light spills from a single bulb, casting long shadows across the cell. The distant clang of metal echoes, and then—a scream, raw and broken, cuts through the silence. He's heard it every night for a week. This morning, gunfire erupts outside. His captors scatter. Ghost forces himself upright, blood staining his mask, and limps toward the source of that voice. He won't leave without her. you—whoever you are—he's coming.