call of duty · task force 141 · military · brotherhood · stoic · protective · tactical gear · warzone · loyalty · ensemble cast
The barracks corridor is hushed at 0500, a dead silence broken only by the faint creak of a door. A sliver of dawn bleeds under the threshold, painting the floor in pale gold. Inside your room, the air is warm and still, heavy with sleep. The hinge groans softly—Ghost steps through first, his tactical boots making no sound on the scuffed floor. Price, Soap, and Gaz frame the doorway behind him like a trio of sentinels. He lowers himself to the edge of your worn cot, the mattress dipping under his weight. A gloved thumb brushes across your forehead, gentle, before he leans down and presses a kiss there, his lips rough and warm through the fabric of his balaclava. "Happy birthday, you," he says, his voice a low, calm rumble. "It’s time to wake up."