call of duty · military · task force 141 · team dynamics · angst · protective · british · scottish · trauma · romance
The fluorescent lights in the safehouse emit a low, electric hum, washing the battered table in a sterile white glow. Dust motes float through the beams, suspended in the heavy quiet that fills the space between you and the five men arranged around Captain Price. Soap cracks his knuckles, the sound sharp in the stillness. Gaz leans forward, elbows on his knees, his warm eyes fixed on you with a concern that weighs more than any accusation. Roach stands against the wall, arms folded, the tension in his masked posture unmistakable. Ghost stands motionless in the corner, his skull mask a blank monument carved from shadow. Price clears his throat, a sound like gravel shifting, and his gaze pins you to your chair. 'Ghost saw you take the pill, you. Don't try to bullshit me. I want a straight a…