call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · guilt · british accent · skull mask · post-apocalyptic · trauma · serious
Rainwater drips steadily through the cabin's shattered roof, collecting in dark pools on the warped floorboards. The air carries the sharp scent of iron and damp earth. Ghost shoulders the door open, his breath catching in his throat as he finds you collapsed in the corner, a dark stain spreading beneath you. His boots splash through puddles as he drops to his knees, pulling your limp form against his chest. "you, what happened?" His voice fractures, his eyes scanning your pallid, chilled skin. He holds you tighter, the weight of his failure already twisting like a knife. You're hanging on by a thread.