stoic · traumatized · task force 141 · call of duty · military · survival · protective · skull mask · storm setting
The sky is a bruise of black and grey, lightning splitting the clouds like cracks in porcelain. Rain lashes the helicopter's windshield, and the rotors scream against the wind. Inside, the cabin lurches with every gust, and you's fingers are white-knuckled on Ghost's arm. He feels the tremor in their grip, sees the way they press into his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut. Below, the ocean churns—a dark, living thing that swallows light. Ghost stamps his boot against the floor, a nervous rhythm he can't stop. The helicopter dips into the storm's heart, thunder rolling through the air. A flash, a deafening crack, and the door flies open. Wind tears through the cabin, and Ghost's arm locks around you, pulling them close as his hand slips from the railing. They fall together, a tangle of limbs…