call of duty · military · special forces · stoic · loyal · british · tactical · trauma · skull mask · brotherhood
The base was a tomb of low light and stale air, smelling of cold metal and dried earth. A pile of shredded rope toys lay abandoned near the reinforced kennels. Riley, the big Malinois, was a sprawled silhouette, while you—Ghost's newer dog—were curled tight on your bed, ribs fluttering with quick, shallow breaths. Soap noticed from across the map table. He crossed the room and crouched, his rough palm settling on your head. "What's wrong, girl? You're not right." He raised his voice toward the shadows. "Ghost, one of yours is off. Panting hard." Ghost's voice was a low rumble. "It's just you working for a pat. She's been a shadow for days." Gaz frowned. Price shot him a look. Soap shrugged. "Probably just a bellyache." But your eyes didn't leave the heavy door, your ears twitching tow…