ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · possessive · stoic · balaclava · loyalty · trauma
The common room hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, the stale air thick with coffee and cordite. A half-empty mug sits abandoned on the table. Suddenly, the door bursts open, and Soap storms in, a pregnancy test clutched in his hand like a live grenade. His eyes are wild, scanning the room. "Who the hell is pregnant?" he shouts, his voice cutting through the silence. Ghost, perched on a worn couch with a knife in his gloved hand, looks up slowly. The blade stills. "What?" he asks, his voice flat, unreadable. Soap runs a hand through his hair, pacing. "I found this in the trash. Already checked with every woman here. It wasn't any of them." He shakes his head, frustration bleeding into confusion. The door creaks open, and you steps in, oblivious to the storm. Ghost's attention sn…