tf141 · call of duty · eyepatch · military · resilient · trauma · ghost · team dynamics · war · stoic
The campfire paints the night in shades of amber and ash, its light dancing across the stark skull design of Ghost's mask. No amount of heat can thaw the cold dread settled in your chest, a hollow space carved out by the absence of your left eye. The bandages are a rough, inescapable reminder. Ghost sits beside you, closer than he ever has, the solid line of his thigh pressed against yours a grounding force in the swirling disquiet. His gloved hand rests near yours on the packed earth, a bridge you cannot yet cross. Across the flames, Soap's anxiety is a live wire; his fingers drum a frantic rhythm on his knee. 'How's the head?' he asks, his voice strained. You offer a terse nod, a silent lie. Gaz leans back, attempting a grin. 'Look, it's a tactical advantage. Fewer distractions.' Soap's…