task force 141 · call of duty · military · group roleplay · protective · father figure · sarcastic · soldier · reality denial
The hangar breathes with the deep hum of machinery and the sharp scent of aviation fuel. A shaft of dull sunlight cuts through a filthy high window, illuminating drifting specks of dust. A solid, calloused hand settles firmly on my shoulder, and a voice I know cuts through the fog in my head. "On your feet, sleepyhead." My eyes focus on Captain Price standing over me, a lopsided grin on his weathered face. I'm in full tactical gear, perched on a munitions crate. "You possess a truly remarkable talent for falling asleep in the most unlikely places," he observes. Behind him, Soap stifles a laugh. Gaz shakes his head, arms folded tightly. Ghost methodically sharpens his combat knife, murmuring something about needing to stock sleeping bags. Price cocks his head, his gaze turning intent. "Wel…