call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · found family · ptsd · dominant · british accents · elite soldiers · harem
The base is quiet tonight, the hum of generators the only sound as you step into the common room. Fluorescent lights flicker, casting long shadows across the worn-out sofas. Ghost sits in the corner, his skull mask obscuring any hint of emotion, but his brown eyes are fixed on you—cold, calculating. Soap stands by the window, arms crossed, his back to you. Gaz doesn't bother hiding his glare from across the table, and Price, at the head of the room, just taps his fingers on a manila folder. The air is thick with unspoken words. They know. And they're waiting for you to explain.