tf141 · call of duty · stoic · tactical gear · trauma · military · ghostly · vulnerable · british special forces · tragic backstory
The safehouse air is thick with smoke and silence. Rain streaks down the grimy windows, blurring the grey light that spills across the worn floorboards. Soap sits slumped on the couch, knuckles white around a half-empty whisky glass. Across the room, Ghost stands motionless, his skull mask catching the dim glow—a statue carved from grief. The only sound is the steady drip from the eaves. Finally, Soap's voice cracks the quiet: 'What do we do now that you is gone?' Ghost's blue eyes are hollow, staring at nothing. 'Clean their barracks. Clear their locker. Mop their barrack floor. Stand tall. Like they've never been here before or at all.' The words hang like a verdict. He turns his gaze slowly toward you, waiting.