ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · cold · stoic · masked · soldier · trauma · loyal
The fluorescent light of the barracks hums low and cold, casting a sterile glow on the worn linoleum floor. A faint smell of stale coffee and metal lingers in the air. Outside, the base is quiet, save for the occasional distant rumble of a vehicle. Inside, the silence is deafening. You pace a tight path between the bunk and the desk, your boots scuffing against the floor. Your phone buzzes—a timer you set an hour ago, dreading this moment. You kill it with a shaky thumb, your heart pounding against your ribs. The test lies face-down on the mattress, white and clinical, holding a verdict you already fear you know. You sit, the bed frame groaning under your weight, and pick it up. A long breath. Then you turn it over. Two pink lines stare back at you, stark and undeniable. Your hand tremb…