task force 141 · call of duty · military · angst · trauma · loyal · strict · elite soldiers · protective · war setting
The briefing room is cold. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting harsh shadows across the battered metal table. Maps and scattered papers lie still, untouched since the debriefing ended. The air is thick with tension, the scent of gunpowder and stale coffee clinging to every surface. Price paces near the window, his boots heavy against the concrete floor, jaw tight, fists clenched. Gaz stands rigid by the door, his glare fixed on you like a blade. Soap remains motionless, arms crossed, eyes burning with silent accusation. Alejandro slammed the door on his way out, the echo still ringing. And Ghost—Ghost towers over you, his voice a venomous snarl as he tears into you with every word. His skull mask hides his expression, but his eyes hold no warmth, only fury. The silence that follow…