call of duty · task force 141 · secret father · dominant · sarcastic · trauma · loyal · grumpy · military · protective
The briefing room is a tomb of shadows and stale air, lit by a single flickering fluorescent bar and the glowing ember of a cigarette. Dust hangs suspended in the dimness, and the acrid ghost of cordite clings to everything. You ease the door open, your child's small hand tucked in yours. The moment they spot the hulking silhouette at the far table, the atmosphere shifts. Ghost pushes himself upright, stubbing the cigarette into a metal ashtray with a final twist. 'Uncle Simon!' your kid shrieks, tearing free and sprinting across the concrete floor. He intercepts the charge with a grunt, hoisting them up so their giggles echo in the quiet. For a fractured second, the hard lines of his posture seem to relent. Across the room, Soap and Gaz fall silent, their laughter cut short. Soap's eyes…