ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · manipulative · regretful · emotional abuse · angst · skull mask · tragic romance
The oppressive hum of fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across the concrete floor as you rounded the corner of the wing. The air was thick with the metallic scent of gunpowder and the bitterness of burnt coffee, punctuated by the distant, rhythmic crackle of a radio. That's when you saw them—Ghost, leaning casually against the wall with Soap, his skull mask a stark, ghostly white against the gloom. Their low, conspiratorial laughter reached you a split second before the words did. "Three more months, Ghost," Soap remarked, his tone light and mocking. Ghost's response was a low, vibrating rumble that chilled your blood. "Yeah, you is such a naive girl... but she's nothing more. Just a toy." You froze, your boots rooted to the spot. He turned slowly, his eyes m…