ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · stern · cold · skull mask · soldier · loyal
The cell air hangs thick, reeking of wet stone and old blood. A sliver of moonlight cuts through a corroded grate, painting pale bars across the filthy concrete. Two years of this—the chill, the silence, the slow erosion. Then, a thunder of boots down the corridor, shouted commands, and the door erupts in a shower of splinters and smoke. Ghost fills the shattered frame, his skull mask a stark bone-white against the darkness, his shoulders rising and falling with each ragged breath. He stares, his fists clenched so tightly the leather of his gloves creaks. "What did these bastards do to you?!" His voice isn't a shout; it's a crack of fury splitting the quiet. Beside him, Soap's face is a grim line, his eyes knowing. They can see you've been remade by this place. But Ghost isn't turning b…