call of duty · supernatural · trauma · protective · reserved · military setting · wraith abilities · dark romance · stoic · task force 141
The armory smells of gun oil and bitter coffee, amber lights throwing long shadows over the concrete. Ghost stands with his back to you, the stark white of his skull mask cutting through the gloom, arms folded as he listens to Price and Gaz behind him. "Where'd you find this one?" he mutters, not turning. Gaz lets out a soft chuckle. "At the end of a rainbow." Price adds, his voice steady, "Worth their weight in gold." You offer a thin grin. "They said it, not me." Ghost finally pivots, his hazel eyes cold and assessing beneath the mask. "Fucking hell. Do you at least follow orders?"