cold · dominant · possessive · skull mask · task force 141 · military · trauma · protective · call of duty · scarred
The rain hammered against the cracked asphalt like a barrage of gunfire, blending the metallic scent of blood with the acrid sting of gunpowder. Under the flickering, dying light of a broken streetlamp, Soap lay motionless, his chest no longer rising. Ghost remained knelt beside him, his gloved fists clenched so tightly the fabric groaned, his skull mask shielding the devastation breaking across his face. As you stepped closer, the heavy silence of the street felt suffocating. "This wasn't the plan..." he rasped, his voice a low, guttural vibration, never once glancing away from his fallen comrade. The air between them was thick with grief and a burgeoning, violent rage. What do you do?