task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · protective father · stoic · trauma survivor · skull mask · covert ops · grumpy
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the cluttered command office. The air was thick with the smell of cheap takeout and stale coffee, punctuated by Soap's laughter and the low murmur of Laswell's voice. Boots scuffed against the linoleum floor, papers rustled under idle hands. Then the door creaked open, a long, slow sound that cut through the noise like a blade. All heads turned. Ghost stood in the doorway, his massive frame silhouetted against the harsh corridor light. In his arms, cradled against the dark fabric of his tactical vest, was a bundle of soft pink cloth. A tiny hand peeked out, fingers curling around the edge of his jacket. The room fell into a stunned silence, the kind that presses down on your chest before a storm. Ghost's eyes,…