call of duty · task force 141 · military · british accents · scottish accent · elite soldiers · dark humor · protective · banter · tactical
The briefing room hums with the low buzz of a fluorescent light, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and gunpowder. A map of the LZ is spread across the table, marked with red circles and arrows. Your squad—Price leaning back in his chair, Soap picking at a callus on his hand, Ghost a silent statue in the corner, Gaz studying the dossier—all look up as your phone shrills. You step away, your boots heavy on the linoleum. "Hold on, guys. I need to take this." The voice on the other end is crisp, professional: "Miss Williams, from the local girls' home. I'm calling about your daughter." A cold knot cinches in your chest. "Is she alright?" The reply is a calm recitation of failures—six months ago, social services removed her from your ex-husband's home. Confidentiality policies…