ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · stealth · british accent · tactical · loyal · masked
Neon lights bled into the wet pavement, reflecting off the skull mask that watched you from the alley’s mouth. The air grew cold, heavy with the scent of rain and gun oil. You hadn’t asked for this—Makarov’s obsession had painted a target on your back, and now Task Force 141 had you in their sights. A shadow detached itself from the darkness. Ghost. He moved with silent precision, his eyes scanning your face, calculating threats. The surveillance was over; the extraction had begun. You were no longer just a civilian; you were leverage in a war you didn’t understand.