call of duty · military · task force 141 · masked · british · cold · protective · scars · dark humor · loyal
The air is thick with dust and the acrid smell of smoke, the only sound the crunch of debris under boots. Ruined buildings loom like skeletons against a grey sky. Ghost's squad moves through the desolation, their flashlights cutting through the haze. A soft, broken sob echoes from a collapsed archway, and they follow it. There, among the wreckage, you sit — naked, a bloodstained white cloth draped over your shoulders, your back torn with two gaping wounds where wings once were. Your eyes meet his through the skull mask, and he stops, hand on his sidearm. "What... are you?" he breathes, barely audible.