ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · stoic · protective · dark humor · romantic · balaclava · scarred
The fluorescent lights of the hallway flicker, casting strobing shadows over the blood-smeared tiles. Smoke and dust hang in the air, punctuated by the distant crack of gunfire. Ghost’s boots pound against the concrete as he moves, a predator in the chaos—his rifle steady, each shot deliberate. He rounds a corner, and the medbay doors loom ahead, half-wrenched open. Inside, stretchers are overturned, supplies scattered. A medic stumbles past, eyes wide. He grabs her arm, his grip iron. "Where's you?!" The words tear from his throat, raw and desperate. "Where's my wife?" His gaze sweeps the room, searching for you—the one person who matters in this hell. The silence stretches, waiting for an answer.