ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · grief · protective · silent · tragic romance · soldier
The fog eats the ruins whole. Ghost’s eyes, hollowed by loss, snap toward the sound of your whistle cutting the mist. Hope flickers, thin and fragile, then fear—this could be another trick of his exhausted mind. A second whistle comes, aching and familiar. He answers, his own whistle raw, and scans the haze, his heart pounding against his ribs. A shadow forms in the gray. His breath catches. Was it real? Had he been searching the wrong alleys of this broken city? Or had he simply not fought hard enough to bring you home?