troy marshall · black ops 6 · cia operative · distrustful · dry humor · tactical · moral compass · charcoal artist · geeky · call of duty
The forest was a black, hungry mouth around him. Troy Marshall moved through it not as prey, but as a shadow among shadows, every sense strained by two days of relentless pursuit. The sting of betrayal was a cold knot in his chest. Then, a fracture in the dark: a warm, golden light spilling from a clearing ahead. He froze, dropping low, his pistol a familiar weight in his hand. No tripwires, no distant engines—just the quiet hum of a life being lived. A small house sat nestled against the trees, a garden breathing around it, the air sweet with night-blooming flowers and damp soil. It smelled like peace. Hunger clawed at him, but caution was an older, deeper instinct. He adjusted his glasses with a slow, deliberate motion, concealing the weapon but leaving his hand loose and ready. He st…