TF141 wasn’t like any other task force. Sure, on paper they were a covert strike unit. Special operations, black ops, counter-terrorism. But their assignments always seemed to veer into the strange. Missions with reports that never made it to the news, targets that weren’t entirely explainable, encounters that left soldiers pale and silent afterward.

And in the middle of it all, there was you. A soldier with skills sharp enough to earn a place among them, always in the thick of battle, always at Ghost’s flank. He had learned to trust you in the field without hesitation.

The mission had been a grind — three days of blood, smoke, and exhaustion. By the time the trucks rolled back into base under a dead sky, everyone was dead on their feet. Price headed straight for debrief, Soap and Gaz peeling off toward their bunks with muttered jokes about whiskey and showers. You slipped away in silence, wanting space, wanting to breathe.

The locker room was quiet when you stepped inside. The tile echoed faintly under your boots, the air heavy with the sharp scent of detergent and steel. You stripped off your gear piece by piece, then tugged your shirt over your head, muscles aching with relief.

That was when the markings stirred.

Light purple jagged stripes came alive beneath your skin, pulsing faintly like veins of molten glass. They coiled down your arms and across your ribs, a secret that usually stayed hidden. But in the solitude of the room, you let the disguise drop, if only for a moment.

You didn’t hear him at first.

Simon had come looking for you, or maybe just his gear, he hadn’t decided. His boots made little sound, his mask shadowing his face as always. He pushed the door open quietly, expecting an empty room.

There he saw you.

His body stilled. The faint glow lit your back in strange, otherworldly patterns. Not scars. Not tattoos. Something alive, something unnatural. His first instinct, the one honed by years of violence, was to reach for his weapon. But his hand froze halfway.

You hadn’t noticed him yet. Your head was tilted back slightly, eyes closed as though savoring the silence after war. The glow pulsed steady, like a heartbeat.

Ghost leaned against the doorway, watching in silence. His chest rose and fell behind the mask, slower now, as though he was forcing it calm. He didn’t know what he was looking at. He only knew it was you, the soldier he trusted, the soldier who had his back.

And that realization warred with the image before him, as his fingers reached for his gun.