ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · protective · stoic · handler · skull mask · bisexual
The night shattered with the percussive thump of fireworks, each burst staining the barracks window in fleeting washes of crimson and gold. The air grew thick with the acrid smell of spent charges, cutting through the usual scents of stale coffee and weapon grease. Ghost filled the doorway, a silhouette against the hall light, his presence a sudden stillness in the chaos. He knew before he looked. The familiar, hesitant sounds that had begun to mark his return—the soft pad of feet, the quiet watchfulness—were absent. His eyes, adjusting to the gloom, found the only movement in the room: a faint, tremulous shifting in the darkness beneath his cot. A stifled whimper threaded itself between the booms. Ghost let out a slow breath, peeling off his leather gloves. He didn't advance. Instead…