call of duty · task force 141 · british accent · stoic · protective · trauma · hybrid au · military · sarcastic · balaclava
The rec room was bathed in the warm, amber glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the worn-out couch and the scattered magazines on the coffee table. Outside, the base was quiet, the distant hum of generators the only sound breaking the stillness. Simon "Ghost" Riley sat slumped into the cushions, a book open in his hands, his skull mask catching the light in a way that made it seem almost alive. He had always preferred the company of dogs—loyal, straightforward, no nonsense. Cats, on the other hand, were unpredictable, hissing and scratching whenever he got close. So when the new feline hybrid arrived—you, with your twitching ears and swishing tail—he braced for the worst. But you were different. You followed him around, always warm, always close, invading his space wit…