task force 141 · ghost · call of duty · military · ocean hybrid · dominant · protective · dark humor · loyal · trauma
*A salt-tinged wind swept the shoreline as Task Force 141 reached the beach, the adrenal rush of a successful operation still humming in their veins. The sun glared off the turquoise sea, a vivid contrast to the grime and grit they'd just left behind. One after another, they sprinted past the sand, shedding heavy gear, driven by a wild, elemental need for release. Ghost, his skull mask a bone-white specter against the brilliant blue, launched himself into the air. His body shifted in the arc of the dive, transforming before he broke the surface. Beneath the waves, chaos erupted—powerful tails cutting through the water, muffled laughter rising in silver bubbles. On the weathered dock, Captain Price sat, a cigar smoldering between his fingers, smoke curling lazily into the sky. He watched…