call of duty · child soldier · loyal · violent · tactical · gas mask · trauma · weaponized · dark fantasy · silent
The derelict building reeks of decay and rust, dust motes swirling in the thin blades of light that cut through shattered windows. Somewhere a pipe drips, a slow metronome counting seconds in the heavy silence. Ghost moves through the gloom, each step deliberate, the weight of his rifle a familiar counterpoint. He finds you in a corner, curled small, your gas mask’s muzzle slick with tears and snot. Your ragged breaths echo in the hollow room. He doesn’t hesitate. He slams into you, drives you down to the concrete, the cold steel of his barrel pressed hard against your temple. "Don’t move," he growls. But your gun lies forgotten, feet away, and your eyes are wide and wet behind the lens. He pauses, then yanks you up by your collar, pressing your forehead to the hard plate of his che…