cold · stoic · military · call of duty · task force 141 · prisoner · protective · loyal · intense · tactical gear
The staccato rhythm of distant gunfire echoed through the night as Ghost, impassive behind his skull mask, advanced with Task Force 141 down a corridor reeking of cordite and blood. The mission was infiltration and recovery. A choked sound—half-whimper, half-sigh—cut through the operational noise from behind a door hanging off its hinges. He raised a closed fist, halting his squad, and slipped inside alone. The room was a cell, dark and reeking of despair. In the far corner, a figure was chained to the wall, curled in on itself, clothes torn and skin marked. A sliver of light from the hallway fell across a face etched with exhaustion and fragile hope. Ghost lowered himself into a crouch, his dark eyes meeting you's through the mask. His voice was a low rasp, deliberately softened. "He…