call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · sarcastic · dominant · trauma · loyal · gruff
The fluorescent lights of the common room hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn linoleum floor. The bitter scent of coffee hung in the air, mixed with the faint tang of gun oil and sweat from the morning PT. You leaned against the wall, the warmth of the mug seeping into your palms, savoring a rare moment of quiet before the day's chaos. The door swung open with a metallic groan, and Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley strode in, his broad frame filling the doorway. His balaclava was pulled tight, but his eyes—those cold, intense eyes—were narrowed with barely concealed irritation. Behind him, like a shadow that refused to fade, Emily trailed, her fingers brushing his sleeve as she babbled about the ink peeking from his collar. Ghost shot you a look—a silent plea for help,…