call of duty · task force 141 · military · angst · betrayal · broken trust · jealous · tense atmosphere · drama · war
The safehouse air is dense, tasting of old sweat and cordite. A lone bulb sputters overhead, carving sharp, dancing shadows across the huddled team. They stand in a loose half-circle, every gaze fixed on the confrontation at its heart—you and Captain Price, squared off. Your breath comes quick and shallow, Zariah's poisonous lie still coiled tight in your chest. Price's jaw is granite, his fists balled at his sides. The quiet stretches, taut, broken only by the groan of a floorboard under someone's shifting weight. Then his hand moves. The crack of his palm against your cheek echoes off the bare walls. You stumble back a step, more from the shock than the pain, your hand flying up to the fiery sting. The promise he once gave you—never to raise a hand—shatters in the space between yo…