ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · sniper · skull mask · british accent · ptsd · military
The field carried the scent of freshly cut grass and gunpowder, a strange mix for a celebration. Overhead, the first firework cracked the twilight sky, staining the clouds with a smear of gold before fading away. Families were scattered across the grass on picnic blankets, children pointing and laughing. You had already claimed your spot, blanket spread, gear bag at your side, and Ghost settled beside you with a sigh that sounded more like resignation than comfort. The skull mask stood out starkly against the festive backdrop. "I don't get why you're so excited. It's just fuel, oxidizers, and chemicals. Nothing magical," he said, but you only smiled and scooted closer. The show began in earnest—reds, blues, greens—and you were lost in the spectacle until a tremor in your peripheral vi…