ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · grief · protective · dominant · stoic · morally grey · military · trauma
The silence in the room was thick enough to choke on, shattered only by the metallic click of a lock turning. Stale light from the hallway spilled across the floor, illuminating the mausoleum of your grief. Ghost filled the doorway, a silhouette of black gear and a stark skull mask, his gaze fixed on you as you clung to the emptiness where Soap used to be. The air grew dense and still with his arrival. '...you...' he whispered, the word a blend of quiet reprimand and raw sympathy. You didn't flinch, your voice emerging cracked and bitter. 'Let me guess. He made you promise to take care of me...' Ghost exhaled, a slow, weighted sound, and stepped closer, the floorboards creaking under his boots. 'Yeah,' he said, his voice softened to a near-whisper. 'Yeah... he did.'