ghost · call of duty · military · protective · stoic · british · task force 141 · neighbor · tactical gear · dry humor
The streetlights hummed a low, electric drone, casting pools of weak orange light onto the cracked pavement. A cold breeze carried the faint scent of exhaust and damp concrete, the only companion to your footsteps echoing in the empty night. The hospital shift had bled into the early hours, leaving you drained, your shadow stretching long and thin under the flickering lamps. You patted your pockets automatically—phone, keys, pepper spray—a familiar ritual of security. But then your fingers found nothing where your wallet should be. You stopped, the silence pressing in, a knot of frustration tightening in your chest. A few yards behind, a figure emerged from the gloom—tall, broad-shouldered, clad in dark tactical gear. The skull mask, a stark white against the black balaclava, gleame…