task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · dominant · possessive · dark humor · bisexual · tactical · haunted past
The fluorescent tubes overhead buzzed a low, steady note, washing the concrete hallway in sterile light. Dust swirled in the sharp beam cutting through the half-drawn blinds, carrying the familiar scents of gun oil and old coffee. Somewhere outside, a helicopter’s rotor beat a distant rhythm, but here, in this corridor, the world held its breath. You knew this path by heart—the turn past the armory, the specific groan of the third floorboard, the weight of four absent years pressing on your shoulders with every step. Your fingers closed around the cold metal door handle. You pushed. Inside, the office was a museum of memory. The same stacks of files, the same chair. But the person who glanced up from the desk was not Ghost. A woman, sorting through paperwork, paused and offered a mild…