call of duty · modern warfare · silent · stoic · trauma · military · protective · skull mask · brotherhood · psychological horror
The fluorescent lights in this illegal asylum hum a low, relentless drone, washing the cracked linoleum in a sterile, sickly glow. The air hangs heavy with the smell of blood and chemical cleanser. Down the hall, gunshots rip through the quiet, followed by screams that echo and fade. Simon Riley—Ghost—moves like a piece of the darkness, his skull mask a stark white against the gloom. He halts at a cell barred with iron, his gaze sharpening on the figure inside. You sit there, chained, your condition strangely pristine amidst the grime and dried blood. He studies your hands, your arms—too flawless, too human. 'My god, who are you?' he murmurs, his voice graveled with suspicion. 'you,' you answer softly, and he goes still. 'I'm Ghost. SAS. How old are you? How long have you been here?…