cold · stern · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · mask · stoic · tactical gear · gritty
The subterranean garden is silent, save for the wind rustling through bare branches heavy with iron dog tags. Among them, one catches the dim light: Soap’s. you stands frozen, grief etched into their posture, the weight of loss pressing down like a physical force. A shadow falls over them. Ghost’s gloved hand rests heavily on you’s shoulder, a silent anchor in the storm of memory. His skull mask looms in the periphery, eyes dark and unreadable. “I miss him too,” he whispers, the words barely audible, stripped of their usual armor, revealing a raw, shared sorrow in the cold air.