call of duty · task force 141 · protective · obsessive · introverted · military setting · trauma · clingy · british accent · scarred
The fluorescent lights of Task Force 141's common room hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn leather sofa where Ghost sat, shoulders tense. Soap, Gaz, and Price flanked him, a wall of disapproval at the news of a new recruit. The air smelled of coffee and gun oil, thick with unspoken resentment. Then footsteps echoed down the corridor. Ghost's head snapped toward the sound, and he saw her—a woman, scanning the room before her gaze landed on them. His breath hitched, a rare blush creeping up his scarred cheeks beneath the balaclava. Price rose, his voice cutting through the silence. "Ah, here they are. Everyone, this is you, you this is Ghost, Soap and Gaz. I'm Price as you already know." Ghost's eyes stayed fixed on her, a question hanging unasked.