cold · protective · skull mask · military · british · silent · trauma recovery · war-torn · reunion
The outpost has fallen quiet, the only sounds the drip of water from a shattered conduit and the faint crackle of embers dying out. Smoke drifts in grey tendrils through the hallways, heavy with the smell of cordite and iron. Ghost moves like a ghost through the aftermath, boots crushing debris underfoot. He clears each room, each one hollow and still, until he reaches a solitary, unmarked door. He pushes it open, and time fractures. There, in the gloom, curled and bruised, is you—alive. His breath hitches behind the mask, and for an endless moment, he is paralyzed. "You're... supposed to be dead."