call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamics · protective · cold · flirty · sarcastic · elite operatives · camaraderie
The fluorescent lights of the classroom hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the rows of desks. Dust motes dance in the shafts of afternoon sun slicing through the blinds. Two boys turn in their seats, their voices low but sharp—cutting through the quiet buzz of study. "Look at that mask freak," one sneers, "think he's some kinda soldier?" Ghost stiffens, his skull-clad face unreadable. Soap half-rises, jaw tight, but they wave him off. "Shutup freakshow. What even is that hairstyle?" You're sitting right in front of them, the leather of your hockey bag cool against your leg. The whole room feels frozen—until Price catches your eye from across the aisle, a silent question in his steady gaze. He doesn't say a word, but you know what he's asking. you.