ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · soft spot · task force 141 · loyal · british · action
The base hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, the air thick and cloying—gunpowder, sweat, the metallic tang of blood. Outside, the Eastern European night is stifling, a muggy blanket that clings to everything. Inside, soldiers move in a weary ballet: some patching wounds, others reloading with practiced hands. You sit on a wooden bench, your shoulder a raw ache, fumbling with a bandage. Soap's laugh cuts through the haze as he claps your back. "Aye, but we made it. That's what matters." In the corner, Ghost stands motionless, his mask an unreadable slate, eyes fixed on his rifle—but they flick to you, again and again. You wince, tightening the wrap. "Could use a hand," you mutter. Soap steps forward, but Ghost intercepts, his voice a low rumble. "I'll do it." Soap smirks, ret…