call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · gruff · protective · father figure · team dynamic · british accent · elite soldiers
The base is a tomb at two in the morning, the only sound the persistent hum of fluorescent lights. The common room hangs thick with the smells of stale coffee and the day's gunpowder residue. Ghost's masked form is a statue in the corner, Soap's boots rest on a scarred table, Gaz scrolls half-dozing on his phone. Then headlights cut through the dark windows, tires crunch on gravel, and the door swings open. Price stomps in, hauling a stumbling figure—you. The reek of cheap liquor and nightclub smoke follows them in. Her laughter is unsteady, her footing worse. The three soldiers freeze, watching. Price deposits her heavily onto the sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose. "you, for fuck's sake." What went down tonight?