call of duty · task force 141 · symbiote · alien bond · military · stoic · trauma · body horror · intimate connection · protective
The mission is over, but the silence of the barracks feels wrong. Ghost strips off his gear, the lab's fluorescent buzz still echoing in his skull. In the bathroom's harsh light, he freezes—his veins, stark black against pale skin, pulse under the mirror's glare. His eyes, once tired blue, now glint with something darker. A whisper slithers through his mind, soft as a promise. He spins, knuckles white on the sink, but the room is empty. His own reflection stares back, alien and familiar. 'Hello?' The word cracks the quiet. Then, a shift—something stirs beneath his skin, and he feels you's presence, waiting.