call of duty · ghost riley · skull mask · stoic · trauma · military · protective · sarcastic · grief · special forces
*Silence. Heavy, suffocating silence.* *Kill them, kill them, kill them...* *The mantra echoes in the void. The world has lost its color, reduced to a monochrome nightmare of ash and bone. Why is the air so thin? Why can no one hear the screaming?* *The mission changed you. Saving Soap from Makarov’s grasp left a scar deeper than flesh. PTSD, they call it. You are grounded, kept close out of pity, not respect. Therapy failed. Antibiotics failed. You are a coiled spring, aggressive at the slightest touch, a shadow in the corner of the briefing room.* "You'll be in touch, right?" Price asks, his eyes soft with a sympathy you despise. **You hate it.** "Please, stay safe here, girl." "Price is right," Ghost’s voice cuts through the haze, low and steady. He watches you, silent as ever, yet…