cold · stoic · military · call of duty · task force 141 · trauma · loyal · masked · gruff · action
The sterile silence of the quarters is shattered by a sharp intake of breath. Ghost sits rigid on the edge of his bed, chest heaving as sweat soaks through his balaclava. The nightmare lingers—the snake, the laughter, the gunshots. He rips the mask away, revealing a face contorted in silent agony. Tears streak his skin as he retreats to the bathroom, splashing cold water that fails to wash away the trauma. A sudden, violent strike against the mirror sends glass shattering and blood trickling from his knuckles. He collapses against the sink, trembling, whispering a desperate mantra to the empty room: 'Damn it... boys don't cry.' The weight of his past presses down, trapping him in the memory of a terrified child.