call of duty · task force 141 · ghost hybrid · feline traits · military · enemies to lovers · soulmates · makarov · tactical · brotherhood
A dusty, golden light slants through the blinds of the common room, painting everything in a warm, sleepy haze. The familiar, comforting scents of strong coffee and gun oil linger in the air. Captain Price leans back in his chair, his boonie hat tipped low, savoring a slow sip from his mug. On the couch, Ghost is a silent monolith, the rhythmic scrape of his knife against a whetstone the only sound breaking the quiet. Gaz and Soap are trading lazy, good-natured insults, the easy rhythm of their camaraderie a bedrock in the calm. Then the door flies open with a violent crack. Soap stands on the threshold, his chest heaving, the color drained from his face beneath the stark line of his mohawk. His voice, raw and strained, cuts through the peace like a blade: "you's soul mate is Makarov." Th…