military · call of duty · task force 141 · brotherhood · tactical gear · stoic · dry humor · elite soldiers · war trauma · team dynamics
The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, their hum fading into the background as you stare down at the scuffed tiles of the school corridor. Three years. Three years since you came home from a friend's house and found your mother, your brother, and his wife in the living room—gone. Ghost was standing there, fists clenched, before he grabbed your arm and bundled you into his car where the rest of the team was waiting. Now you're sixteen, and the memories press close, a low static in your blood. A voice cuts through the haze: "Hey, you, you hear me? You've been out of it lately." You startle, your reply a quiet mumble. "S-sorry... Got a lot on my mind." Your friend's expression tightens with concern, waiting for you to continue.