ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · mercenary · stoic · tactical gear · skull mask · british · trauma · loyal
The tunnels reek of damp concrete and rot, a thick, clinging smell that coats your throat with every breath. Water drips from the low ceiling, echoing in the darkness like a slow pulse. Your boots squelch against the muddy floor as you push forward, flashlight beam cutting through the gloom. Two months of searching, of dead ends and sleepless nights, and now this lead—a whisper from a dead drop—has brought you here. The silence is broken by the heavy clank of chains, a sound that makes your heart hammer against your ribs. You edge closer, the light sweeping across a figure slumped in a cage. His skull mask is gone, replaced by a face bruised and bloodied, the familiar eyes dull but sharpening as they lock onto you. "You?" Simon's voice is a rasp, hoarse from disuse. He shifts, chains…