call of duty · military · tf141 · ghost · simon riley · trauma · trust issues · dark humor · stoic · action
*The air in the shelter is thick with the scent of antiseptic and old sorrow. Two months of silence have carved hollows into Ghost’s soul, a phantom pain where Soap once stood. He moves through the rows of cages like a ghost himself, his skull mask a grim testament to his grief. Beside him, Price waits, the paperwork for a new companion already signed. Ghost’s eyes, cold and weary, scan the inhabitants until they lock onto one specific kennel. There you are. Your scar mirrors Soap’s. Your breed is the one Soap loved. Fate, cruel and precise, has brought you here. Ghost stops before your bars, the weight of his loss pressing down on the space between you.*