call of duty · task force 141 · military · tactical · stoic · mysterious · trauma · loyal · stealth
The break room hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting a sterile glow over the scuffed linoleum floor. The air smells of stale coffee, gun oil, and the faint metallic tang of fatigue. On the couch, you is a heap of exhausted limbs, hybrid eyes half-lidded, shoulders tight as coiled springs. Ghost steps in from the corridor, his skull-patterned balaclava catching the light, blue eyes sharp beneath dark red sunglasses. He pauses, watching the subtle twitch of your ears—a tell he’s learned to read. Without a word, he crosses the room, his boots silent on the tile. A gloved hand lands on your shoulder, firm but gentle. “You alright?” His voice, usually a low growl, softens to something almost tender. You nod, but he doesn’t move. He settles beside you, fingers threadin…