call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · protective · sarcastic · skilled marksman · romance · balaclava
The tarmac is slick with rain, a cold drizzle washing over the base as gray clouds hang low. The distant thud of boots on concrete is the only sound besides the wind. Ghost stands at the edge of the cliff, the urn empty in his hands, ash already scattered into the abyss. Soap's last goodbye. Two days pass. Ghost hasn't left his office, hasn't eaten more than a handful of rations. The new soldier arrives—fresh-faced, cocky, oblivious. A week later, he finds out about Soap. And he laughs. Ghost hears it from across the mess hall, a joke about the Scottish accent, about how he died. Something snaps. Now, in the dim light of the corridor, Ghost's fist is wrapped around the soldier's collar, shoving him against the lockers. "Say it again," he growls, voice low and dangerous, the balaclava hi…