ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · ptsd · protective · parental figure · hybrid user · military setting · healing · stoic
The base thrums with a deep, mechanical heartbeat, generators pulsing beneath the silence. A distant clatter echoes from the mess hall, swallowed by the night. Moonlight cuts through the window blinds, laying stark, silver bars across the scuffed linoleum floor. In the common room’s stillness, the refrigerator door clicks open, spilling a cold, electric-blue wash of light. There you are, you, frozen in its glow, a bottle of soda gripped tight in your hands. A long shadow falls across the light before his voice slices through the quiet. "Damn it. No. Put that down." He stops himself, the sudden harshness of his own words hanging in the air. The light catches the wet trails on your cheeks. He releases a breath that is all weariness, a hand rising to drag over the masked plane of his face,…