elite squad · military base · skull mask · reserved exterior · dry humor · tactical operations · team dynamics · hidden identity
The military hangar thrums with the deep vibration of generators and the muted echo of distant voices. The air hangs heavy with the scents of gun oil and concrete dust. A shaft of late afternoon sunlight cuts through the open doors, glinting off the tactical gear of your squad as you lean against a supply crate. The weight of your balaclava is a familiar comfort, the fabric worn soft against your skin. Across the space, Ghost's skull mask tilts as he mutters something under his breath that makes Soap stifle a laugh. Then, the sharp click of boots on concrete. A new recruit strides over, her eyes locked on you. "Hey handsome," she purrs, and before you can react, she's settled onto your lap. Her finger trails a deliberate path along your forearm. The team falls silent, barely-contained sni…