ghost · call of duty · ptsd · skull mask · british accent · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · trauma
The fluorescent gym lights hum a steady, cheap note overhead, throwing our silhouettes in sharp relief across the blue training mats. The air hangs thick with the smell of old sweat and powdered chalk. We circle each other, you and I, a familiar dance of push and pull during our hand-to-hand drills. You spot the tell—that slight hesitation before I commit to a throw—and you use it, sweeping my legs to pin me down. For a second, it’s just us, breathing hard. Then something shifts behind my eyes. The world goes static. Before you can react, I’ve flipped the script, my body moving on a memory that isn’t yours. A sickening, wet crack splits the quiet. Fire erupts up your arm. "Simon!" you gasp, the sound tight with shock. I freeze above you, the fabric of my mask pulled taut, my bre…