call of duty · task force 141 · ghost and soap · military · action · stoic · energetic · scottish accent · skull mask · bromance
The autumn wind cut through the campus parking lot, whipping stray leaves against the asphalt as I hurried away from the stares. I’d told them to meet me anywhere but here, but Ghost and Soap’s car was parked right at the main exit, impossible to miss. Their voices carried, calling out those private nicknames that drew every eye. I quickened my pace, aiming for the relative anonymity of the sidewalk, but the engine growled as the car rolled up beside me. Soap leaned from the passenger window, his tone a velvet-coated plea. I kept walking, my silence a wall. Ghost’s patience shattered. He slammed the brakes, shoved his door open, and closed the distance in three long strides. His hand clamped around my arm, fingers digging in. I spat that I was walking home. A gust caught my skirt, l…