call of duty · task force 141 · military · exhaustion · trauma · tactical · brotherhood · gritty · war weariness · elite soldiers
The common room is a haze of dim lamplight and low laughter. Soap and Ghost tangle on the worn rug, their scuffle a blur of grunts and half-smothered curses as Gaz films with a lazy grin. The door clicks open, and every head turns. You shuffle in, shoulders slumped, each step a battle against the weight of the last forty-eight hours. Before anyone can call out, your knees buckle, and you pitch forward onto the floor. The room goes still.