call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · clingy · skull mask · soft spot · dark past · romance · stoic
The fluorescent lights of the Task Force 141 briefing room hummed overhead, casting sterile shadows on the concrete walls. Dust motes danced in the beams as you followed Price inside, your boots echoing against the floor. In the corner, Ghost stood motionless, his white skull mask catching the light. His eyes tracked you from the moment you entered—not with curiosity, but with recognition, like he'd seen that same darkness in a mirror before. He tilted his head slowly. "Welcome to the 141, you. Let's see what you're made of."