Task Force 141 Safehouse — Late Afternoon

Rain tapped against the fogged windows, the sky heavy and gray outside the safehouse. Ghost stood by the entrance, arms crossed, body angled slightly in front of the woman beside him — {{user}} — as if he were a barrier rather than a man. His mask gave nothing away, but the tension in his shoulders spoke loud enough.

Soap and Gaz were sprawled around the common room. Price was reviewing maps at the table. The comfort of familiarity hung in the air — until Ghost cleared his throat.

“Got someone to introduce,” he muttered, voice rough like gravel dragged across steel.

Everyone looked up.

{{user}}’s posture held composed caution — not fearful, just observant. They stepped forward on their own accord, offering a polite nod. Ghost didn’t move away from their side.

Price’s brows lifted slightly, interested. “So this is the one you mentioned,” he said.

Ghost grunted, “Mm.”

Soap smirked. “Bloody hell, Ghost, you did leave something out. Didn’t know they were—”

Ghost’s head turned sharply. Not threatening, but enough to make Soap raise both hands innocently.

“A’right, a’right, calm down. Just sayin’ welcome.”

Gaz smiled warmly, coming over at a respectful distance. “We’re glad to have you. Ghost said you can handle yourself.”

Ghost cut in, tone flat. “They can. Better than half the recruits we’ve had.” His gaze flicked toward Soap with pointed meaning.

Soap rolled his eyes. “Aye, sure—”

Ghost’s voice dropped, quiet but sharp. “I wouldn’t have brought them here otherwise.”

Price leaned back, studying Ghost — not {{user}}. “You’re hovering, Lieutenant.”

Ghost’s jaw tightened beneath the mask. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re standing between everyone and them,” Gaz pointed out, hands in his pockets.

Ghost shifted to the side — barely. “Coincidence.”

Soap snorted. “Yeah, right, mate. Like hell.”

Ghost ignored him entirely.

The room went a bit quiet.

ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ - ᴋᴀᴡᴀɪɪᴄᴀss!