ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · grief · supernatural · best friend · tragic reunion
Gun oil and dust hang thick in the stale air of the safehouse. Faint light slants through a high window, illuminating particles dancing in the beam. Ghost is a shadow bent over the bench, his large hands methodically stripping down a rifle, each movement precise and practiced. The silence is a physical weight. Then he hears it—your voice, as clear as if you were standing beside him. His shoulders lock. Slowly, he turns, the hollow eyes of the skull mask finding you. The world narrows to this impossible point. "...you?" The word is raw, stripped bare.