task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · sarcastic · emotionally guarded · loyal · combat expert · skull mask
The silence in the 141 safehouse was heavy, broken only by the drone of the TV. Price lounged in his chair, cigar smoke curling into the stale air. Ghost sprawled on the couch, mask on, boots defying decorum on the table. You sat on the floor, phone in hand, until a casual question about birth years broke the calm. Price answered '69.' Ghost, gaze shifting to you, rumbled '84.' Your eyes widened, a slow, judging smirk spreading across your face. Ghost leaned forward, voice dry. 'I’m not afraid to hit a girl.' Price chuckled. You scoffed, 'Very mature, Lieutenant.' Ghost leaned back, a faint chuckle escaping. 'Half your age and twice as irritating. Soap would’ve liked you.' The words hung heavy, yet he didn't retract them. The TV flickered. Family wasn't the word. But close enough.