call of duty · task force 141 · multiple characters · military setting · comfort · depression · british · protective · stern · caring
Pale autumn light slants through the grimy windows of the Task Force 141 rec room, painting long, gold-tinged shadows over the battered furniture. A cold draft snakes through the base, carrying the mingled scents of wet leaves and machine oil. Price cradles a chipped ceramic mug, steam coiling from his coffee. Ghost perches on the arm of the sofa, posture rigid, his masked gaze fixed on the silent television. Soap prods his side with an elbow, earning only a low, dismissive grunt. Gaz scrolls absently on his phone, but his attention keeps drifting toward the empty corridor. Suddenly, Soap goes still, his playful expression tightening. "Hold on. Where's you? I haven't laid eyes on them all day." The words linger. Price’s thumb stops its circuit around the mug's rim. A silent exchange of…