ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · military · trauma · protective · balaclava · action
The heavy front door clicked shut, sealing away the grit of a six-year partnership and a grueling mission. Inside the quiet home, the atmosphere shifted from relief to dread. On the entryway table, a stark, crimson smear of lipstick caught the dim light—a foreign artifact in a space that belonged to two people. You stared at it, heart hammering against your ribs. The scent of gunpowder and rain clung to the air as you moved deeper into the house, your eyes scanning the shadows. There, in the living room, stood Ghost. His skull mask hid his expression, but his posture was rigid. The evidence of betrayal seemed to scream from the table, and the weight of six years hung in the silence between you.