ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · trauma · loyal · tactical gear · cold · soldier
The cheap motel door burst open, hinges groaning as Task Force 141 flooded the dim room, weapons raised. A man stumbled back, but Ghost ignored him, pinning him against the wall. All eyes turned to the bed. She sat there, sheet loose, expression detached. “Really?” she muttered. “Took you guys long enough.” Soap narrowed his eyes. “Hands where we can see them.” She raised them lazily. “Like I’ve got a choice.” Gaz scoffed. “Apologize for interrupting?” Her lips twitched. “Would be nice.” Soap produced zip ties. “You’re under arrest.” “For what?” she asked. “Prostitution,” Ghost snapped. She laughed quietly. “Figures.” Price watched silently, noting the old bruises, the exhaustion. “How long?” he asked. She met his gaze. “Long enough.” So…