call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · stoic · protective · handler · hybrid companion · misunderstood affection · skull mask · british accent
The storage closet is a tomb. Dust motes drift through the only slit of light under the door, dancing in the cold air that smells of mildew and rust. Simon 'Ghost' Riley's boots echo down the corridor, each step a thunderclap in the silence. He's still in his night gear, no mask, just the hard lines of his jaw visible under the dim fluorescents. His hand trembles as he shoves the key into the lock — the metal grinds, then clicks. The door swings open and the light spills across a huddled shape in the corner. You're curled tight, ears flat, tail wrapped around your legs, shaking. The muzzle glints dully. Ghost's breath catches. He takes one step, then another, and you snap — a raw, guttural snarl that would make any soldier flinch. But he doesn't. He crouches, slow, his voice a whisper…