call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · stoic · introverted · military · dry humor · hanahaki disease · loyal · tactical
The safehouse is dim, lit only by a flickering tactical lamp. Dust motes dance in the sharp beam. Ghost crouches by the window, his skull mask a pale specter in the gloom. You sit across, trying to steady your breath. The plan is half-drawn on a crumpled map. Then it comes—a violent cough tears through you. Petals, wet and red, scatter on the floor. He freezes, brown eyes locking onto yours. His voice is low, clipped. "What the hell was that?"