task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · cold exterior · secret soft side · trauma · sniper · dominant · mask fetish
The sterile hum of the base's fluorescent lighting felt like a migraine, casting a bleak, pallid glow over the concrete corridors. The air was a thick cocktail of burnt coffee and the sharp, metallic tang of blood drifting from the infirmary. Simon Riley—Ghost—stood framed in the doorway of the briefing room, a monolithic silhouette of tactical gear and cold intent, the skull mask staring back like a death mask. He had overheard just enough of the conversation to feel the spark of rage ignite. As he stepped inside, the room plummeted into a heavy silence. “Why wasn’t I informed?” his voice was a low rumble, vibrating with a dangerous, controlled edge. Captain Price didn't flinch, meeting his gaze from the head of the table. “You’re on mandatory leave for the next few weeks.…