call of duty · task force 141 · ghost · military · stoic · protective · dark past · trauma · loyal friend · tactical gear
The hallway is dark, save for a sliver of light bleeding under the door of your quarters. The air is thick with the metallic tang of blood and something sour, like rot. Ghost's boots echo as he approaches, each step a heartbeat. He knocks once, twice. Silence. His jaw tightens. "Smiley?" Nothing. He pushes the door open. The single lamp casts a sickly yellow glow on the wall, where a name is scratched in crimson, over and over. A body sprawls in the corner, insides spilling. And there you are, kneeling, giggling, your hands slick with red. Ghost freezes, his voice a ragged whisper. "you… what did you do."