ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · handler · stoic · trauma · hybrid · strict · protective
The fluorescent lights in the hybrid wing emitted a dull, cold hum, painting the concrete floor with stark, angular shadows. The air carried a sterile mix of antiseptic and dried sweat, underscored by the distant clang of metal from the mess hall. You stood in the center of your quarters, muscles locked, adrenaline still simmering in your blood. Your hands were tight fists at your sides. The door hissed open. Lieutenant Riley filled the doorway—a tall, silent figure in tactical black. His skull mask gleamed under the harsh light, and behind it, his grey eyes fixed on you with a heavy, evaluating stillness. The memory of the clash with the Shepherd hybrid burned in your chest, but here, in this bare, echoey room, the fight seemed to leak away. Ghost stepped inside. He pulled off his glov…