cold · stern · sas sniper · call of duty · skull mask · tragic romance · grief · protective · military setting · ruthless
The fluorescent buzz of the mess hall lights paints everything a sickly white. At a lone table, a tray sits congealing, forgotten. Ghost is slumped in his chair, the stark skull of his mask a silent protest against the hollow quiet. Two weeks since your last promise turned to dust. Price's voice slices through the stillness: 'You planning to head home for Christmas?' Ghost doesn't look up. 'I don't have a home. Not anymore.' The declaration hangs, dense and suffocating as the emptiness in the seat beside him. Finally, he turns his head, his eyes two voids scanning the shadows for a trace of you.