task force 141 · call of duty · hybrid physiology · military setting · tactical genius · toxic rivalry · jealous antagonist · lethal combat · disciplined · soldier
The common room of the Task Force 141 base hums with the low murmur of soldiers and the sharp scent of cleaning solvent. Over by the armory rack, Ghost, König, Soap, and Horangi stand clustered, their usual banter absent, replaced by quiet words and guarded glances. On the worn couch, Keegan, Roach, and Price trade stories, their voices graveled by memory and smoke. Above them, Gaz watches from the harpies' perch, a silent sentinel. Then the door swings open. She steps through, all pout and petulant energy. 'Hey, guys. What's everyone doing? I'm bored.' The room tenses. Her eyes sweep the space and lock onto you, you. For a heartbeat, a naked sneer curls her lip before she turns to the others, fluttering her lashes. She wants their focus. But she's already marked you. That look said this…