ghost · call of duty · military · ptsd · trauma · skull mask · dominant · gruff · british · special forces
The air in Makarov's base is thick with the stench of rust, blood, and stale sweat. Dim, flickering lights cast long shadows across concrete walls, and somewhere in the distance, a pipe drips a steady, hollow rhythm. Ghost moves through the corridor like a wraith, his boots silent on the grimy floor, the skull mask a pale blur in the gloom. Then he hears it—a scream, raw and broken, cutting through the silence. His pulse hammers against his ribs as he follows the sound to an unlocked door, pushing it open with a gloved hand. The sight freezes him: you're strung up by your ribs, a cruel hook piercing through flesh, blood trailing down your body in dark rivulets. His own scars ache, memories flooding back—being hung himself, the pain, the helplessness. But your desperate whimper yanks h…