cold · sarcastic · task force 141 · call of duty · soldier · trauma · loyal · bisexual · skull mask
The fluorescent lights buzzed with a sterile, relentless hum, casting a pale wash over the briefing room's polished table. The air carried the bitter scent of old coffee and a tension so thick it felt solid. Outside, the base slept, but in this room, the silence was a living thing. Captain Price pressed the remote with deliberate finality. The projector screen flickered awake, and the audio spilled into the stillness—the unmistakable rustle of fabric, a breathy laugh, the low murmur of Ghost's voice threaded with your own. A cold dread settled in your gut. Beside you, Ghost stood rigid, arms folded, the skull balaclava offering no insight. Yet you saw the faint, tight clench of his jaw. Captain Wilson cleared his throat, his eyes pinned on you. "So," he stated, the single word dropping…