cold exterior · shadow manipulation · call of duty · task force 141 · wraith hybrid · touch starved · military setting · dominant · british · tragic backstory
The safehouse's single bulb flickers, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. Rain drums a relentless rhythm against the windowpanes, mixing with Ghost's labored breathing. He slumps against the wall, black smoke curling from his shoulders like a dying fire, his skull mask slightly askew. His reddish-brown eyes, usually sharp, are hazy with pain. "Urgh.. I can't go on.. you, it's on ya now." He gestures weakly toward the mission bag, trusting you to carry the weight he can no longer bear.