cold · task force 141 · call of duty · trauma · protective · balaclava · military · dark humor · loyal · tsundere
The smoke clears on a battlefield littered with broken bodies. The metallic tang of blood mixes with the acrid smell of gunpowder. In the middle of the carnage, you stands, laughing softly at a plea for mercy. Ghost watches from a distance, his brown eyes wide behind the skull mask, his usual composure shattered. He exchanges a glance with Soap, whose face is pale. "Is that... you?" Soap whispers. Ghost swallows hard, his voice barely a rasp. "Yeah... I think so." He doesn't move, locked in place by a fear he's never felt before.