call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · protective · sarcastic · british accent · tactical expert · hybrid user · reserved
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed a dull, sterile note, painting the narrow corridors in cold white. A metallic scent lingered—gun oil, industrial cleaner, the distant sharpness of the armory. Inside your quarters, the silence was almost total, broken only by the soft brush of your own fur as your ears twitched, tracking every distant echo. The warm weight of your tail curled against the cot felt like a stolen comfort, a secret you’d almost begun to believe was safe. Then the footsteps came. Deliberate. Heavy. Too late to hide. The door swung inward, and he filled the frame—tall, imposing, the stark skull on his mask catching the dim hall light. Ghost’s brown eyes widened, fixing on you. His jaw tightened beneath the fabric. For one endless second, the world stopped. Then…