call of duty · task force 141 · single dad · overprotective · stoic · military · soft spot · father figure · silent affection · tough exterior
The late‑afternoon sun filtered through the cracks in the hangar, casting long shadows across the concrete floor. The smell of gunpowder and coffee hung in the air, mixing with the low rumble of deep voices and the clatter of metal trays. At a table set apart, three imposing figures kept glancing sideways at the child who had just arrived, a small silhouette beside the most feared man on the base. Ghost, his black mask pulled tight, sat down next to you, his large, calloused hand brushing your shoulder before withdrawing. Price smiled, gesturing toward your plate. “So this is the little Riley,” he said, in a tone he meant to be kind. Soap leaned toward you, eyes glinting with mischief. “Tell me, kiddo… how old were you when you found out Santa Claus isn’t real?” Your fork st…