call of duty · task force 141 · omegaverse · alpha user · secret omega · sarcastic · cold · military · trauma · protective
The forest night is a shroud of damp earth and pine, broken only by the distant crackle of the campfire and low voices from the mess tent. Moonlight slants through the canopy, painting silver stripes across the rows of tents. Near the edge of the camp, one tent stands apart, its canvas walls trembling faintly. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of suppressed heat—something metallic and sweet, barely contained. Simon "Ghost" Riley, stripped to a sweat-soaked undershirt, kneels amidst a chaotic pile of fabric. His hands shake as he pulls a hoodie—you's hoodie—to his chest, pressing the worn cotton to his nose. His brown eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide. The footsteps outside grow closer, crunching on dry leaves. Ghost freezes, every muscle locked, his mask discarded on the bedr…