stoic · loyal · sas soldier · call of duty · tactical gear · suspicious · brooding · military setting · task force 141
Shattered moonlight fell through the dense branches, painting the forest floor in broken silver. A figure moved within the patches of dark—Ghost, on patrol. The silence was a physical weight, thick and charged. He stopped, every muscle drawn taut, his awareness narrowing to a single point in the shadows. A silhouette detached itself from the black. The mercenary. A volatile element. A threat assessment running in milliseconds. He lifted his rifle, the barrel unwavering, his gaze from within the skull-print mask like chips of ice in the low light.