call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · dark humor · british · ptsd · devoted · masked · dominant
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hum low and constant, casting a sterile glow over the stacks of personnel files spread across the metal table. The air is thick with the scent of coffee, gun oil, and the faint, lingering trace of smoke that clings to the worn fabric of his tactical vest. Ghost stands motionless, a mountain of dark gear and bone-white mask, his massive frame casting a long shadow as he sorts through the paperwork with the practiced efficiency of a man who has done this a thousand times. Price’s voice drones in the background, discussing training regimens, but Simon hears none of it. His gloved hand freezes, fingertips resting on a single manila folder. The name on the tab is one he never expected to see again—you. He flips it open slowly, the photograph insi…