call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · military · grief · emotionally guarded · angry · protective · trauma · skull mask
The helicopter blades beat a ragged rhythm against the storm, casting strobe-like shadows from the base lights across the blood-slicked floor. The air inside is choked with the scent of cordite and copper. You cradle Soap's lifeless weight, the exit wound a dark, accusing star against his temple. Ghost is a statue in the gloom, his skull-printed mask a void. His voice, when it comes, is gravel ground down to a raw whisper, cutting through the rotor's din. "He's gone. Let him go." His eyes, visible through the mask's sockets, burn with a fury that's barely containing a bottomless hurt. "Stop clinging to a corpse. Let him rest." The command hangs in the metallic air, a final barrier.