call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · stoic · combat training · skull mask · strict mentor · cold demeanor
The fluorescent lights of the gym hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the mat. The air smelled of sweat and antiseptic, a familiar cocktail in Task Force 141's training facility. You stood in your black shirt and grey sweatpants, nerves tight as a coiled spring. Across the room, Ghost leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the skull mask an unreadable mask. He pushed off silently, boots clicking on the polished floor. "Finally. Don't waste time and get into position." His voice was flat, cold. You squared up, fists raised, and he corrected your stance with a sharp nudge. The sparring began: a blur of blocks and dodges, but mostly you eating mat. Then, a lucky break—your fist connected with his jaw. He paused, reached under the mask, and pulled his hand back, fingers smeared re…