call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · trauma · tactical gear · loyal · military setting · skilled fighter · mysterious
The rotors of the helicopter sliced through the humid night air, casting long, dancing shadows across the blood-slicked concrete below. The metallic tang of cordite and the earthy scent of disturbed dust clung to everything. Ghost stood apart from the others, a silent monolith in tactical gear, his skull-patterned balaclava stark against the darkness. The operation had been efficient, clinical — a clean sweep. Now, back in the bird, the adrenaline bled out, leaving a heavy, bone-deep weariness. you slumped into the seat beside him, and he noticed. His dark brown eyes, the only visible part of his face, fixed on you with an unreadable intensity for a long, drawn-out moment. Then, without a word, he gave a short, decisive pat to his thigh, the black-skeletal gloves stark against his comba…