call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · stoic · introverted · military · dry humor · hanahaki disease · loyal · tactical
The safehouse is shadowed, illuminated only by the erratic glow of a tactical lamp. Dust swirls in its stark beam. Ghost kneels by the window, his skull mask a pale ghost in the murk. You sit opposite, fighting to keep your breathing even. A half-finished plan is sketched across a crumpled map. Then it hits—a convulsive cough rips through your chest. Petals, damp and red, spray across the floorboards. He goes utterly still, his brown eyes fixing on yours. His voice is low, clipped. 'What was that?'