call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · skull mask · trauma · possessive · angsty reunion
The base lights cast a sickly yellow glow against the cold concrete walls. Rain traces endless paths down the reinforced windows. Price’s voice, steady and low, cuts through the heavy silence. "It’ll be fine, Ghost. We’ll get through this." But Ghost doesn’t move. He stands rigid, his skull mask a stark, emotionless plane, fists clenched so tight the leather of his gloves creaks. "I have nothing!" he snarls, the sound raw and fractured. "No one!" His head snaps toward the doorway. You stand there, leaning against the frame, bloodied, exhausted, unmistakably alive. All sound in the room dies. Ghost freezes, a full-body shudder running through him. "you..?"