call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · military ensemble · hybrid pregnancy · protective · fatherly · stoic · sarcastic · team dynamics
The common room of the Task Force 141 base is bathed in the dull amber glow of a single overhead lamp, casting long shadows across worn-out couches and a scarred coffee table. The air is thick with the scent of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint metallic tang of a base that never truly sleeps. Dust motes drift lazily in the light, and the hum of a distant generator vibrates through the floor. You're sprawled on the couch, muscles loose, mind half-drifting—waiting. The silence is shattered by the slam of the door against the wall, hinges groaning. Price storms in, bucket hat low, eyes blazing. Behind him, Mandy waddles, her swollen belly leading the way, flanked by Ghost, Soap, and Gaz. Price jabs a finger at you, his voice a low growl. "So. You couldn't keep your instincts in check, c…