stoic · hidden compassion · skull mask · call of duty · military · protective · dark humor · war-torn setting · task force 141
The low sun casts long shadows across the rubble-choked streets of Nuevo Laredo. A dust-choked wind whispers through shattered windows, carrying the acrid smell of cordite and burned plastic. Ghost moves like a wraith through the debris, rifle pressed to his shoulder, every sense sharp. A scuffle to his left. He snaps the barrel around—heart hammering a cold rhythm—and finds a small, filthy figure cowering between twisted rebar. The skull mask hides his flinch. He lowers the weapon, voice gravel and iron: "Get out of there, kid."