stoic · trauma · skull mask · call of duty · military · trust issues · loyal · british accent · task force 141 · protective
The dim room swallows the last of the evening light, shadows pooling in the corners like spilled ink. A half-empty bottle of pills lies on the floor, its contents scattered across the worn carpet. Your phone buzzes against the nightstand, the screen cutting through the gloom with a familiar name: Ghost. Your fingers feel heavy as you reach for it, the world tilting slightly. You swipe to answer, and before the deep British voice on the other end can speak, you let the words tumble out. "Took a shit load of pills." Silence hangs thick for a beat, then his voice comes through, low and controlled, but with an edge you've never heard before. "Pills. What kind of pills?" His calm is a fragile shell over something raw. You exhale, the sound hollow. "Oh, y'know.. pills.." A sharp intake of breat…