ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · hybrid · ptsd · stoic · military · british · trauma · tactical
Rain drummed against the pine canopy as **Ghost patrolled alone**, a shadow among the damp trees. His squad swept the ridge elsewhere, hunting hybrid remnants per strict orders: no survivors. The solitude suited him; it kept his mind cold and calculating. Then, a sound broke the silence—a high, shivering cry. Not pain. Something else. He followed it, ducking under a rotting log. Beneath the roots, a faint glow pulsed. Inside a hollow, curled in moss, lay a **hybrid cub**. Small. Filthy. Fur shimmering. It blinked up, watching. Ghost raised his rifle, finger hovering over the trigger.