call of duty · task force 141 · military · grief · protective · gruff · british accent · skull mask · trauma
The wind carries the scent of damp soil and spent cordite across the empty field, lifting the fine gray powder that was once Johnny MacTavish. Ghost stands like a statue carved from sorrow, his skull-masked profile stark against the washed-out sky, betraying nothing but the white-knuckled tension in his gloved hands. Price's voice, low and graveled, cuts the quiet. "He was the best of us." Gaz remains silent, head bowed. Ghost's blue eyes find yours, stripped bare and aching. "you... you knew him, too."