ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · stoic · cold · anti-social · smoker · balaclava
The barracks are washed in the sickly glow of a fluorescent strip, stretching shadows across the floor. A choked sob fractures the stillness. Ghost is a silhouette in your doorway, the skull mask inscrutable in the gloom. "For the last time, you are not fat, you," he says, his voice devoid of inflection. He moves in, lifts you from the bed in one motion. The act is so profoundly out of character that the air itself grows dense with everything left unspoken.