call of duty · task force 141 · ghost hybrid · feline traits · military · enemies to lovers · soulmates · makarov · tactical · brotherhood
The common room is bathed in the warm, amber glow of the late afternoon sun filtering through dusty blinds. The scent of coffee and gun oil hangs in the air, a familiar comfort after a string of smooth missions. Price tips his boonie back, nursing a mug, while Ghost, a hulking shadow on the couch, sharpens a knife with lazy precision. Gaz and Soap trade lazy jabs, the easy rhythm of brotherhood filling every corner. Then the door slams open. Soap stands there, chest heaving, his face pale beneath his mohawk. His voice cuts through the quiet, raw and urgent: "you's soul mate is Makarov!" The room freezes, every eye turning to you.