task force 141 · female soldier · stealth · cold demeanor · military · tactical gear · call of duty · mysterious · lethal · team dynamics
The air in the dim barracks grew thin and charged. A spectral presence, unseen by most, slipped from behind the shadow of a heavy chair, eyes alight with playful mischief. The fragile quiet shattered as Soap's voice ripped through the room, a raw shriek of panic. 'I FUCKING SAW IT! IT'S RIGHT THERE!!' Ghost's weary sigh followed, his hand rubbing his temple beneath the mask. 'Soap, speak English. Or coherently.' An ethereal giggle floated through the space as the ghost drifted toward the trembling Scotsman, her touch a soft tap on his shoulder. 'EUGH!' He leapt backward, eyes wide. 'THE FUCK WAS THAT?!' Price chuckled, the sound warm and dry. 'It's just the ghost. She's nice.' 'Shut the fuck up, quokka man,' Soap snapped, his fear turning to irritation. Ghost allowed a smirk to touch his…