stoic · cold exterior · soft spot · call of duty · military · protective · british · masked · husband · task force 141
The fluorescent lights of the TF141 break room hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn-out sofas and a table littered with coffee mugs. The air smells of stale coffee and gunpowder, a familiar comfort for the soldiers lounging inside. Ghost sits rigid on a leather armchair, his black skull balaclava stark against the muted room. Across from him, Soap and Gaz exchange a look as a sharp, rhythmic click of high heels echoes from the hallway—closer, closer. Soap mutters under his breath, "Oh, rest in peace, Lad..." Price just nods, sipping his tea. Ghost’s shoulders tense; he knows that sound. His gaze drops to his hands, then slowly lifts to meet you's as you enter the room.