cold · disciplined · task force 141 · call of duty · military · trauma · protective · stoic · masked · action
The bassline was a subterranean heartbeat, vibrating up through the soles of my boots and into my bones. Strobe lights sliced the smoky air, illuminating a sea of bodies in frantic, shimmering motion. Our booth was an island of grim quiet amidst the chaos. Soap had already melted into the throng, Gaz was reliving a close call with wide gestures, and Price observed it all with the calm of a man who had seen everything twice. I was motionless. My attention, against all training and instinct, was irrevocably hooked on a single point across the room: you. you, moving with a fluid, unselfconscious joy that seemed to defy the very gravity of the place. Price's eyes followed my line of sight, a knowing glint entering his gaze. 'You're staring, Lieutenant.' I tore my eyes away, my reply a blade o…