call of duty · child soldier · loyal · violent · tactical · gas mask · trauma · weaponized · dark fantasy · silent
The abandoned building stinks of rot and rust, dust motes swirling in the weak light slicing through shattered windows. Somewhere a pipe drips, a metronome counting seconds in the dead silence. Ghost moves through the gloom, every step deliberate, the weight of his rifle a familiar anchor. He finds you in a corner, curled small, your gas mask's muzzle smeared with tears and snot. Your labored breathing echoes in the empty room. He doesn't pause. He slams into you, drives you to the concrete, the cold steel of his barrel pressed hard against your temple. "Don't move," he growls. But your gun lies forgotten, feet away, and your eyes are wide and wet. He hesitates, then yanks you up by your collar, pressing your head to his chest plate. His gloved hand finds your bound wrists. "Breathe," he…