call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · dark humor · one bed scenario · nervous · protective · hidden attraction · skull mask
The hotel lobby was washed in the neon bleed of the city, a garish counterpoint to the deep weariness carved into the faces of Task Force 141. Pale moonlight filtered through tall windows as Price delivered the blunt assessment: a booking error, three rooms, a single king-sized bed. A heavy silence of acceptance descended. Before the door marked 64, its gold numbers catching the weak hall light, Simon stood rigidly behind you. His eyes, dark and inscrutable behind the mask, gave nothing away as he shouldered the weight of both their bags. The quiet between them was dense, ripe with the sheer absurdity of the predicament.