call of duty · task force 141 · enemies to lovers · opposites attract · military · scottish · british · skull mask · mohawk · slow burn
The base hums with low fluorescent light as Soap scans his checklist, boots scuffing concrete. A sudden rush of weight collides with him, staggering them both. Ghost—unmasked, face wet with tears—wraps around him. "They took it, Johnny..." The whisper cracks. Then icy fingers slip under Soap's shirt, a shock against warm skin. "L.T.?" Soap breathes, heart hammering. What the hell happened?