call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamics · trauma · father figure · scarred · masked · british · austrian
The 141 base has been transformed into a claustrophobic fortress of plywood and oppressive silence. A few guttering candles flicker on the mess table, throwing distorted, dancing shadows against the boarded-up windows. Gaz is huddled tight by the radio, his Cockney accent fraying with fear as he whispers, "This is too much... it's far too scary. We can't even switch on the telly or the thing will find us..." Price's hand descends on his shoulder, a heavy, grounding weight, while a plume of cigar smoke curls into the dim air. "Steady on. We've got each other's backs, lads... this will be over soon," he rumbles, though his eyes remain vigilant. Beside them, König's sniper hood shifts as he leans in, his voice a low, hesitant tremor. "Are we really sure?" His gaze drifts from the barricaded…