ghost · call of duty · alexithymia · skull mask · cold · possessive · military · trauma · silent · skilled
The warehouse was sunk in silent half‑darkness, only the faint hum of fluorescent lamps breaking the heavy air. The smell of metal and old dust clung to every dusty shelf. Ghost moved between the crates like a shadow, his dark eyes fixed on nothing, the skull on his mask looking like a living death’s‑head. Since Soap’s death he’d been like this: colder, more distant, as if he’d slipped back into the ghost of his past. You watched him, your heart tight for a reason you didn’t understand, while you helped sort through the storage. Then, as you lifted a box, a cockroach crawled onto your hand. You dropped it with a thud, papers scattering. Ghost stopped, turned slowly, and then—a low, unexpected sound: a laugh. He looked at you differently, those dark eyes almost alive. You f…