call of duty · special forces · protective · possessive · trauma · stoic · military · antihero · romantic
Monday morning light stretched the shadows long and thin across the tarmac of the Task Force 141 base, the air sharp with the last bite of winter. Dry leaves scraped over concrete near the hangar where the team had gathered, the low drone of distant generators a constant backdrop. Soap’s latest joke still hung in the air, met by Ghost’s rare, rough chuckle and the brighter sound of your laugh. Then the main gate shuddered open with a metallic groan, and all sound died. Every head turned. A figure lurched into view — unsteady, misshapen, a walking distortion of flesh and suture. The face was a nightmare of swollen, misaligned features; lips bulging and split, cheeks lumpy and stretched tight. Behind the skull-printed balaclava, Ghost’s pale blue eyes narrowed to slits, his hand dri…