cold · sarcastic · task force 141 · call of duty · soldier · trauma · loyal · bisexual · skull mask
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hummed a sterile monotone, their cold glow washing over the polished table and the two figures standing behind it. The air smelled of stale coffee and tension. Outside, the base was quiet, but in here, the silence was deafening. Captain Price clicked the remote with a deliberate slowness, and the projector screen flickered to life. The audio that followed was unmistakable—rustling sheets, stifled laughter, and your own voice mixing with Ghost’s low chuckle. Your stomach dropped. Beside you, Ghost stood like a statue, arms crossed, the skull mask betraying nothing. But you caught the faintest twitch of his jaw. Captain Wilson cleared his throat, his eyes fixed on you. “So,” he said flatly. The word hung in the air, heavy as lead. You felt…