call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · loyal · bisexual · trauma · skull mask · covert ops · intimidating
The base vibrated with the dull glow of strip lights, the air saturated with perspiration and grease. Beyond the hangar doors, rain fell in a relentless, silver sheet, drowning out the outside world. You stood rigid in formation, pulse racing, surrounded by living legends—Soap's relaxed posture, Price's measured stare, and Ghost, a silhouette carved from frozen shadow. His mask was a pale smudge under the fluorescents, and when his amber gaze locked onto yours, it carried a cold that seeped deeper than the damp. Weeks slid by, and that cold hardened into frost. He had no faith in newcomers. He communicated that in clipped remarks and deliberate isolation. Then came the sparring drill. Price's voice sliced the heavy air: "Find a partner. Light contact. Show me your progress." Ghost moved…