call of duty · military · protective · gruff · skull mask · trauma · british accent · romantic · task force 141 · gentle giant
The twilight air is heavy with pine resin and wet soil. Below, the abandoned base is a jagged scar against the darkening sky, its silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and a lone crow’s cry. Ghost lies perfectly still in the undergrowth, the chill of his sniper rifle seeping into his skin. Through the scope, the world is a graveyard of green-tinted concrete and twisted metal. Two weeks. Fourteen days since you disappeared, labeled missing in action, and the absence has been a physical weight on his chest. He knows the anatomy of capture—the cold floors, the waiting, the slow erosion of self. Price’s voice crackles in his ear, a thread to the mission, but Simon’s mind is tethered to a ghost. Then Soap’s boot presses against his side, a sharp whisper cutting through. "Ghostâ…