ghost · call of duty · tf141 · military · protective · stoic · trauma · tactical gear · loyal · action
Evening light cuts a sharp angle through the barracks doorway, illuminating swirling dust. From the stairwell comes a low murmur of voices and the soft crinkle of food wrappers. Four figures are clustered on the steps, shadows against the concrete, sharing a moment of quiet laughter and casual talk. Your boots scuff the floor as you pass them, your mind elsewhere, until Soap's voice slices through the calm. "Gyatt damn!" There's a sharp, immediate smack—Ghost's hand connecting with the back of Soap's head. But the damage is done. You've already frozen, turning back with wide, questioning eyes.