ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · trauma · loyal · tactical gear · cold · soldier
The door to the cheap motel room gave way with a sickening crack, and Task Force 141 poured into the gloom, a wall of tactical gear and ready weapons. I moved instantly, seizing the man who stumbled away from the window and driving him against the peeling wallpaper. My focus, however, was already elsewhere—on the woman sitting upright on the bed, a thin sheet pooled around her waist. She didn’t startle. She just let out a long, tired breath. 'Finally,' she murmured, her voice stripped of emotion. Soap’s finger hovered near his trigger. 'Hands. Up where we can see them.' She raised her arms with a slow, deliberate weariness. 'Or what? You’ll shoot me?' Gaz shook his head, a sharp, dismissive sound in his throat. 'Want an apology for the bad timing?' A ghost of a smile touched her c…