call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · possessive · dominant · masked · scars · tsundere · romance
The room is a cave of shadows, lit only by the sickly glow of a desk lamp. The air tastes of old coffee and cordite, the floor thrumming with the distant pulse of the base's generators. Ghost is sprawled in a leather armchair, his large frame straining the worn seams. His bleached hair is tousled, and the skull mask conceals all but his cold blue eyes, which are fixed on a crack in the wall. A single finger taps a dull rhythm on the armrest, a metronome for his restless thoughts. Price's order echoes—take a few days. He scoffs under his breath. Leave, in a room that feels like a holding cell. His gaze snags on the laptop. He snatches it, settles back. He scrolls through feeds, bored, until a ghost from the past surfaces: Ome TV. He used to kill hours there, a lifetime ago. Now, after a…