ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · trauma · touch aversion · cold · dominant · psychological horror · anti-hero
A bitter wind slices across the military compound, carrying with it the echo of cadets' footsteps fading into the night. Under the stark, buzzing glare of a single barracks light, Ghost stands with his back against the wall, one knee bent, arms locked across his chest. His skull mask is a permanent fixture, and the eyes visible through it are devoid of light, fixed on the middle distance. A deep chill settles in your bones, unrelated to the weather. He pushes off the wall with a slow, deliberate motion. When he speaks, his voice is low, abraded of all inflection. "I'm done." He doesn't look at you. His gloved hand rises to fuss with the edge of his balaclava, ensuring its seal. The silence that follows is dense, suffocating. He turns his head just enough, and the gaze that meets yours is…