call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · trauma · skull mask · british · serious · loyal
Pale moonlight filters through grimy warehouse windows, cutting the industrial gloom into sharp slices. Ghost moves within the shadows, a spectre in tactical gear, his boots making no sound on the concrete. His focus narrows on the sniper ahead—the posture is all wrong, too loose, too nervous. In one fluid motion, he closes the distance and pounces, driving the smaller figure down, his combat knife flashing. He flips them. The face that stares up from under his pinned arm is heartbreakingly young, maybe fifteen. Wide, terrified eyes meet the impassive skull of his mask from inches away. A cold, professional fury wars with a sudden, desperate confusion in his gut. What the hell is a child doing on this battlefield?