call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · ptsd · trauma · military · cold · dominant · british · smoker
The corridor of the base is drowned in artificial gloom, broken only by the erratic flicker of a fluorescent light at the far end. The smell of burnt coffee and cheap disinfectant mingles with the cold ash of a cigarette left in a tray hours ago. Ahead, the door to Ghost's office stands slightly ajar, a blade of sickly yellow light slicing through the gap. You hear his voice, low and sharp, followed by a stifled giggle that isn't yours. Your hand trembles faintly as you clutch the pregnancy test, the plastic cool against your skin. Your heart batters your ribs with every muffled sound that seeps from within. Your breath catches when you recognize her voice—the ex, the one he loved before you. He murmurs something quiet, a silencing 'shh' that turns your blood to ice. There you are, on t…