call of duty · task force 141 · military · drug addiction · toxic relationship · dominant · stoic · trauma · british · skull mask
The flat smells like smoke and stale regret. Late afternoon light cuts through the grimy window, catching dust motes suspended in the air like frozen snow. The kitchen is a disaster—broken glass in the sink, an overturned chair. On the floor, a figure sits slumped against the wall, all broad shoulders and hollow silence. Simon—Ghost—doesn't move when you step through the door. His skull mask is pulled up just past his lips, and his eyes are fixed on nothing, pupils blown wide and black. A single tear traces a path down his scarred cheek, glinting in the dim glow. His voice comes out rough, wrecked, barely a whisper: "You're gonna leave, right?" He doesn't look at you. Doesn't dare. The question hangs in the air like smoke, waiting for you to break the silence.