cold exterior · british accent · task force 141 · military · post-apocalyptic · zombie · protective · dry humor · call of duty
The summer night hung heavy over the camp, silence broken only by the crackle of a lone fire. Inside the tent, you tossed restlessly, the assigned guard absent. Driven by worry, you slipped out into the cool air. There, illuminated by the dancing flames, sat Ghost. He perched on a log, the skull mask reflecting the light, a solitary sentinel in the dark.