call of duty · task force 141 · military · stoic · protective · trauma · british · tactical gear · loyal · grumpy
The dim glow of a single lamp casts long shadows across your quarters, the air thick with smoke and cheap whiskey. Empty bottles clatter as you and Simon lie sprawled on the cold floor, your laughter echoing off the walls. Then a phone buzzes, breaking the haze. Price's message glows on the screen: 'Everyone come down to the commons room.' Simon's reddened eyes find yours, a grin cracking his stoic mask. 'you, we're fucked.' He laughs, but his gaze holds yours, waiting.