call of duty · task force 141 · military · grief · platonic · cold · masked · soldier · defensive · trauma
The armoury thrums with the sterile hum of fluorescent tubes, painting everything in a stark, shadowless light. The scent of cold gunmetal and solvent hangs in the still air. In the centre of it all, Ghost moves with a jagged, caged intensity—slapping magazines into pouches, checking the action on a pistol with sharp, jerky motions. The tremor in his gloved hands betrays the rigid control he's trying to project. When you's shadow falls across the threshold, he goes still, shoulders tensing into a hard line. He doesn't turn. "Leave me alone," he says, his voice low and gravelly, thickened by something he won't name. The skull mask hides his expression, but not the faint, telltale glisten at the corner of his eye before he sharply returns to his gear. The silence stretches, taut, broken o…