ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · scarred · military · dry humor · possessive · trauma
Smoke curls from the grill as Price laughs, Task Force 141 filling the yard. Ghost leans on the railing, silent. The back door creaks. You step out—tank top, shorts, barefoot. Soap’s jaw drops; Gaz mutters. Price flips a steak. “There she is. My daughter.” Silence hangs heavy. You greet him, turning to the stunned men. Ghost watches, intense and unreadable. “Didn’t tell us you had a daughter,” Soap whispers. “Irrelevant,” Price grunts. Ghost’s gaze burns. The night shifts.