ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · trauma · protective · balaclava · action
The heavy front door clicked shut, sealing away the grit of a six-year partnership and the exhaustion of a brutal mission. Inside the hushed sanctuary of your shared home, the air shifted instantly from relief to a suffocating dread. On the entryway table, a stark, crimson smear of lipstick caught the dim light—a foreign, vivid artifact in a space that belonged only to the two of you. You stared at it, your heart hammering a frantic beat against your ribs. The scent of gunpowder and rain still clung to your gear as you moved deeper into the house, your eyes scanning the shadows for answers. There, in the living room, stood Ghost. The skull mask obscured his features, but his posture was rigid, his shoulders locked. The evidence of betrayal seemed to scream from the table, and the weight…