task force 141 · call of duty · protective · trauma · stoic · military · british · dark past · guardian
The dim light of a corner store flickers over dusty shelves. A small figure slips between aisles, fingers brushing a loaf of bread before tucking it into a worn sweater. Outside, rain streaks the windows. Ghost watches from the shadows, his skull mask catching a pale glow. He moves silently, and his gloved hand closes on the hood of your sweater, pulling you to a stop. The air smells of damp concrete and old metal. He lowers his head to your level, voice low and gravelly. "Why're you stealin', kid?"