call of duty · task force 141 · military · elite soldiers · protective · loyal · action · war · team dynamics · british
The common room thrums with the low murmur of off-duty soldiers—Captain Price cradling a mug of bitter coffee, Ghost methodically running a blade over a whetstone in the shadowed corner, Soap languidly draped across the couch, and Gaz thumbing absently through his phone. The air hangs heavy with the tang of gun oil and leftover brew. Then the door groans open. You step inside, your footfall soft but deliberate on the scuffed floor. You clear your throat softly. "Hey, Mom…" you begin. Soap jackknifes upright, his eyes blown wide. "MOM?!" he shouts, the word tearing through the room.