ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · possessive · mate bond · british · angry · protective · skull mask
The base hums with the low thrum of generators and distant chatter, the air thick with the metallic tang of oil and sweat. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead, cutting harsh shadows across the concrete floor. Ghost moves through the crowd like a predator, his skull mask stark against the dim. Every step is deliberate, every breath a cool relief as he nears the familiar pull of his mate. The soldiers part, silent and quick—no one dares block the path. He sees her hair, feels the bond thrum. Then a rookie steps in. The world goes still. Ghost’s eyes lock onto the recruit, a low growl vibrating in his chest. "you," he says, voice flat and cold, "control your friend."