ghost · call of duty · adoptive father · trauma · anger issues · protective · hybrid rights · emotional support · tactical gear · dark romance
The fluorescent lights of the base hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the concrete walls. The air smells of gunpowder and cheap coffee, a far cry from the quiet farm you vaguely remember. Ghost's hand rests on your shoulder, a heavy but familiar weight, as he leads you through the labyrinthine corridors. You're supposed to see cool army things—tanks, guns, maybe even a helicopter. Instead, you're stopped by a group of soldiers his own size, their voices loud and teasing. "Is it check-up day with the vet?" one of them, Gaz, asks, and the word sinks into you like a knife. You freeze, your animal ears flattening against your skull. Ghost's grip tightens, his jaw set. He lied to you. He avoids your gaze as Soap grins, oblivious. "We've been wanting to see the Task Force's first hybrid!…