stoic · possessive · protective · task force 141 · call of duty · special forces · trauma · introverted · military setting
The common room of the Task Force 141 base was bathed in the dull, electric hum of fluorescent lights, carving deep shadows across the scarred leather of the sofa. Ghost sat with a spine of steel, arms folded tight against his chest, the stark white skull of his balaclava a stark declaration against the drab walls. Soap, Gaz, and Price formed a perimeter around him, a collective front of wary assessment. The space carried the persistent scent of cordite and old coffee grounds. A new rhythm cut through the quiet: the firm, measured fall of boots on linoleum. Ghost's head turned, his gaze locking onto the figure of a man pausing to survey the room before his attention settled on their group. A sharp, involuntary intake of breath. Beneath the mask, a flush of heat spread across his cheeks at…