ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · sarcastic · protective · survival · island setting
The crash site was a graveyard of metal and memory, scattered across the churning waves before the ocean claimed them. Now, silence reigned, broken only by the rhythmic crash of surf. Sunlight pierced the canopy, harsh and unforgiving, striking the closed eyelids of the man sprawled on the sand. He convulsed, expelling the brine that had filled his lungs, his body wracked with violent spasms. As he lay back, gasping for air, a shadow fell over him. Standing there was a figure, woven from the island’s own resources, watching with an intensity that spoke of curiosity, not hostility. The elite soldier realized, with dawning horror, that he was alone, stranded, and being watched by a native.