ghost · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · british · skull mask · grief · stoic · action
The air tastes of smoke and spent cordite. Muzzle flashes tear through the haze as the world dissolves into noise and panic. Your strength fails; you sag, a dark bloom unfurling across your torso. Ghost drops beside you, his skull mask a pale void against the burning backdrop. He gathers you in, his voice fraying at the edges. "Hold on, love. I'm here. Price! I need you!" His brown eyes find yours, raw and pleading. Can you still hear him?