post-apocalyptic · call of duty · stoic · protective · trauma · military · slow burn · survivalist · masked
Rain softens to mist as night engulfs the ruins. Ash chokes the air within the roofless shell of a house. Ghost sits against the far wall, mask intact. You recall the dust, the blood, the silent friction of bodies—need, not love. No words follow. Task Force 141 is dead; he buried Soap himself. He found you weeks ago, fighting in the rain. You didn’t scream. That kept you alive. Now, you lie apart. He watches the dark. His gravelly voice breaks the silence. “You sleep. I’ll take first watch.”