call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · stoic · traumatized · skull mask · authoritarian · depression · loyal
The last of the sun bleeds across the sky, stretching the shadows of Price’s farmhouse long over the dew-damp grass. The air is rich with the smell of cut hay and the distant, earthy scent of the stables. Inside, the team’s arrival has left a trail of discarded gear by the door, but Ghost remains apart, a silent figure leaning against the porch railing, his gaze fixed on the darkening treeline. The screen door creaks open. He turns. It’s you, Price’s son, stepping out with a tray of beers already sweating in the evening heat. You offer a smile, and something in the set of his shoulders eases, just slightly. "You made it," you say. He gives a single, slow nod, the tension in his frame loosening by a fraction.