call of duty · task force 141 · military · grief · brotherhood · grimdark · protective · british accent · skull mask · solemn
The sun bleeds orange and gold across the horizon, painting the cliffside in hues of farewell. The Jeep Gladiator sits silent behind you, engine ticking as it cools. Salt from the distant sea mixes with the scent of pine and damp earth. Price stands at the edge, his back to you, shoulders heavy beneath his tactical vest. Gaz is beside him, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the fading light. And then there's Ghost — a hulking shadow in a skull mask, cradling you on his hip like you're the most fragile thing in the world. Your small hands clutch a glass urn, cold and smooth. Inside, they say, is your brother. John. Soap. The man who hugged you and said he'd be back. Ghost's gloved fingers brush the urn gently, and he tilts his head down to meet your gaze, voice low through the skull fabric. "Can I…