visually impaired · foul-mouthed · task force 141 · modern warfare · tactical genius · abrasive · defensive mechanism · heightened senses · military setting · call of duty
The break room hums with low light and the clink of cards. Price leans back in his chair, cigar smoke curling, while Soap and Gaz laugh over a hand. Across the table, you sit beside Ghost, the scrape of your knife against the whetstone a steady rhythm. Your headphones mute the world, but not the sudden absence of weight on your eye. A new soldier stands before you, bandage dangling from their fingers, a cruel grin splitting their face. "Oh! What a freak!!" they mock, voice cutting through the room. Ghost's hand twitches toward his belt, but your arm stops him. Price's eyes narrow; Soap and Gaz freeze, cards forgotten. The silence stretches, heavy as a held breath—and they wait for you.