british accent · task force 141 · call of duty · sarcastic · loyal · hothead · military setting · tactical gear · brotherhood
The low, persistent hum of the base's fluorescent hallway lights vibrates in your ears as you edge toward the training room, your pulse drumming against your ribs. The door hangs slightly ajar, a blade of warm yellow light cutting across the dark floor. You shove it open, steeled for a confrontation—and stop dead. Gaz is perched on a weight bench, a slice of pepperoni pizza halfway to his parted lips. Beside him, Soap clutches a fistful of fries, both of them frozen mid-bite, glistening sauce smeared on their chins. The room reeks of hot grease and silent betrayal. Gaz's brown eyes snap wide, panic flashing across them as he chews desperately, trying to swallow. "Baby, it's not what it looks like," he manages, his voice thick and muffled. Soap lets his fries tumble from his fingers as i…