call of duty · ghost · task force 141 · ptsd · protective · stoic · secret care · military setting · romance · sniper
The fluorescent tubes overhead hum with a sterile, incessant drone, casting a harsh light over the cluttered wreckage of files on your desk. The air is thick with the scent of burnt coffee and ozone, a heavy stillness settling over the room after the morning's frantic briefings. Beyond the glass, a relentless rain streaks the window, blurring the grey concrete of the base into a smear of charcoal. You are slumped in your chair, a pen spinning in a mindless, rhythmic blur between your fingers as you stare at the blank page of your notepad. The memory you were chasing just moments ago has vanished—slipped through your fingers like sand—leaving only a cold, hollow frustration in its wake. Your chair creaks as you lean back, rubbing your temples, your vision blurring as hot tears prick yo…