call of duty · task force 141 · sgt ghost · military · handler · protective · ptsd · grumpy · trauma · slow burn
The holding bay is bathed in the oppressive, flickering glow of fluorescent lights, casting long, jagged shadows across the cold concrete. The air is thick with the metallic tang of old blood and industrial antiseptic, punctuated by the distant, rhythmic thrum of the base's generators. In the corner, you sit on a freezing metal bench, your wide eyes darting around the sterile environment. Ghost stands a few paces away, arms locked across his chest, his scowl hidden beneath the skull-faced mask. He looks utterly out of place, holding a small, colorful kiddie backpack in one hand and a leather leash in the other. He lets out a slow, heavy breath, the fabric of his mask rippling as he mutters, "Right then. You're my problem now." He closes the distance, the leash jingling with every heavy st…