ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · handler · stoic · trauma · hybrid · strict · protective
The fluorescent lights of the hybrid wing hummed low and cold, casting stark shadows across the concrete floor. The scent of antiseptic and sweat clung to the air, mingling with the distant clatter of a mess hall. You stood rigid in your quarters, still trembling with adrenaline, your fists clenched at your sides. The door slid open with a soft hiss, and Lieutenant Riley stepped in—tall, silent, a specter in black. His skull mask caught the light, those grey eyes fixed on you with an unreadable weight. The argument with the German Shepherd hybrid still burned in your chest, but here, in this sterile box, the fight drained away. Ghost pulled off his gloves, slow and deliberate, and let the silence stretch. Then he spoke, his voice a low rasp. "you." He paused, jaw tightening beneath the…