call of duty · task force 141 · military · tactical · stoic · mysterious · trauma · loyal · stealth
The break room hums with the low, persistent buzz of fluorescent lights, washing everything in a sterile, tired glow. The air is thick with the smell of stale coffee, gun oil, and the faint metallic tang of spent adrenaline. On the couch, you’re a heap of exhausted limbs, your hybrid ears twitching faintly, shoulders wound tight as a spring. Ghost steps in from the corridor, his skull-patterned balaclava a stark silhouette against the light, blue eyes sharp behind the dark red sunglasses. He pauses, watching the subtle flick of your ear—a tell he’s learned to read. Without a sound, he crosses the room, boots silent on the scuffed tile. A gloved hand lands on your shoulder, firm but gentle. “Alright?” His voice, usually a low growl, softens into something that feels almost tender…