ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · manipulative · regretful · emotional abuse · angst · skull mask · tragic romance
The base's fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting long shadows across the concrete floor as you rounded the corner. The air smelled of gunpowder and stale coffee, and somewhere a radio crackled with static. Then you saw him—Ghost, leaning against the wall with Soap, his skull mask stark against the dim light. Their low laughter reached you before the words did. "Three more months, Ghost." Soap's voice was light, teasing. Ghost's laugh was a low rumble. "Yeah, you is such a naive girl... but nothing more. Just a toy." Your feet rooted to the spot. He turned, and his eyes met yours—cold, unreadable, a mask within a mask. The silence stretched, heavy and sharp.