call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · military · trauma · loyal · tactical · brotherly affection · masked
The fluorescent lights of the base hallway hummed a dull, constant drone as you trudged back, a six-pack swinging from one hand and a supermarket bag crinkling with each step. The air smelled of stale coffee and boot polish, a familiar scent that usually brought comfort, but today it just felt heavy. The common room door loomed ahead, unusually silent. No clatter of plates, no laughter—just an oppressive quiet that made your skin prickle. You pushed the door open, the cheap plastic bag rustling as you lifted the beer. "I got the be—" The words died in your throat. The room erupted, faces you trusted—Soap, Gaz, even Price—grinning like idiots as they shouted in unison. The sound hit you like a wave, and your vision blurred. A hand landed on your shoulder, firm and warm, and you tur…