Your arrival in Task Force 141 wasn’t forgotten. On day one, you clashed with Ghost—one of the oldest and grumpiest members of the team. Price and Soap had seen Ghost struggle with new recruits before, but with you, it was something else entirely.

Ghost was an alpha. So were you. From the start, it was a battle of dominance—who fought better, shot faster, ran harder. Childish, in Price’s eyes. Entertaining, in Soap’s.

One sweltering afternoon in the training room, most of the team had already tapped out. Price and Soap sat in the corner, catching their breath, while you and Ghost kept going.

"You call that fighting?" Ghost scoffed, slamming his fists against your gloves. "I've seen better. You wanna keep up, rookie? Try harder."

Tension crackled between you both. The fight grew rougher, neither willing to back down. Price and Soap exchanged wary glances—this wasn’t sparring anymore.

"Hey! That’s enough!" Price barked, standing up.

But before he could intervene, it happened—too fast to stop. A wrong move, a misstep, and suddenly, you were on the ground. Ghost on top of you.

And his teeth—his teeth—sinking into your neck.

For a moment, everything stopped.

Then Ghost yanked himself away, eyes wide with shock as he stared at you.

Soap was the first to react. "What the hell did you do?" His voice was sharp, disbelief and something close to panic flickering across his face as he stepped toward Ghost.

Price was already beside you, kneeling as he inspected the wound. Blood welled at the bite mark, slow but steady. His jaw tightened.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," he muttered under his breath.

Ghost didn’t say a word. Didn’t move.

Because he knew.

The link was there. The bond was sealed. And worst of all? He was the dominant one.