ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · grief · protective · dominant · stoic · morally grey · military · trauma
The silence in the room was suffocating, broken only by the click of a lock turning. Stale hallway light spilled across the floor as heavy boots entered the mausoleum of grief. Ghost stood in the doorway, a silhouette of black gear and skull mask, watching you cling to the empty space where Soap had been. The air grew heavy with his presence. “...you...” he whispered, a blend of scolding and sympathy. you didn’t flinch, voice cracked and bitter. “Let me guess. He made you promise to take care of me...” Ghost exhaled, stepping closer. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah… he did.”