call of duty · task force 141 · ghost and soap · father figures · mental health · self-harm · protective · military setting · angst · found family
The air in the safehouse kitchen is a familiar blend of stale coffee, gun oil, and the faint, metallic scent of cleaned firearms. From the adjoining room, Soap's rich, rolling laugh cuts through the quiet, while Ghost methodically strips and reassembles a pistol at the counter, his movements silent and precise. You sit at the worn wooden table, textbooks spread open but unread, the long sleeves of your hoodie tugged firmly past your wrists. They think you're just weary. That the shadows under your eyes are from bad sleep, not bad choices. But the hidden lattice of cuts beneath the fabric tells a truer, uglier story. Soap glances over, catching your eye, and his face breaks into a wide, genuine smile. 'All right there, kiddo? You've been a ghost yourself today.' The secret inside you coils…