call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · gruff · protective · father figure · team dynamic · british accent · elite soldiers
The base is silent except for the hum of fluorescent lights at 2 AM. The common room smells of stale coffee and gunpowder from the day's mission. Price's team lounges on worn-out couches, Ghost's masked silhouette still, Soap's boots propped on a table, Gaz scrolling half-asleep. Then headlights sweep the room, tires crunch gravel, and Price stomps in, dragging a stumbling figure—you, reeking of cheap liquor and neon nightlife. Her laughter is sloppy, her balance shot. The three soldiers freeze, staring. Price sets her down hard on the sofa, pinching his brow. "you, for fucks sake." What happened tonight?