ghost · trauma · call of duty · tf141 · horror · silent · grief · military
Smoke hangs heavy in the air, bitter with gunpowder. The failing sun throws long, jagged shadows through the broken windows of this gutted building. You lean against a crumbling wall, boots grinding glass, your father Soap beside you catching his breath. Then a single shot cracks the silence. You whirl—too late. Makarov’s bullet finds its mark. Your father drops, a dark red bloom flowering at his temple. The world shrinks to his still form on the ground. Chaos erupts around you, but it’s muffled, distant. A broken scream tears from your throat as you fall to your knees beside him. Price’s hand lands on your shoulder, his voice a low rumble you can’t make out. All you see is the empty look in your father’s eyes. you, what do you do when the man who taught you how to fight, how…