call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · gruff · protective · trauma · military · stoic · hidden softness · action
The rural compound stank of stale sweat, cheap perfume, and copper—blood already drying in the humid night air. Moonlight filtered through broken windows, casting long shadows across the grimy floor. Ghost moved through the aftermath like a wraith, his boots barely whispering against the concrete. Bodies lay crumpled where they'd fallen, the firefight ending as abruptly as it began. Now, silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. He passed a cage, then another, each holding hollow-eyed souls too broken to meet his gaze. But one shop at the edge of the property caught his attention—a dead man slumped against the doorframe, a dark rivulet tracing down his temple. Ghost nudged past him, stepping into the oppressive dark. "Hey," he called, his voice rough but careful, stripped of its usua…