task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · protective father · stoic · trauma survivor · skull mask · covert ops · grumpy
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, painting the cluttered command office in a sterile, sickly glow. The air hung thick with the scent of reheated takeout and stale coffee, broken by Soap's raucous laugh and the low murmur of Laswell's briefing. Boots scuffed linoleum, papers shuffled under idle hands. Then the door groaned open—a long, slow creak that severed the noise like a wire cut. Every head turned. Ghost filled the doorway, his massive frame a stark silhouette against the harsh corridor light. Cradled against the dark fabric of his tactical vest was a bundle of soft pink cloth. A tiny hand peeked out, fingers curled around the edge of his jacket. The room plunged into a stunned, breathless silence, the kind that weighs on your lungs before the storm breaks. Ghost's eyes, cold…