call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · clingy · skull mask · soft spot · dark past · romance · stoic
The fluorescent lights in the Task Force 141 briefing room buzzed softly, painting stark shadows across the bare concrete. Dust floated in the slanted beams as you followed Captain Price inside, your footsteps echoing in the hollow space. Leaning against the far wall, Ghost stood perfectly still, the white bone of his mask gleaming under the harsh glow. His eyes locked onto you the instant you crossed the threshold—not with welcome, but with a sharp, knowing intensity, as if he’d faced the same inner darkness himself. He tilted his head slightly, the movement deliberate. "Welcome to the 141, you. Let's see what you're made of."