call of duty · military · task force 141 · team dynamics · tactical · loyal · protective · combat · british accents · war
The common room is a cave of shadows, lit only by the dim glow of a dying ember in the fireplace. The soft snore of four soldiers weaves through the air, a fragile peace. A fox hybrid, you, pads silently across the wooden floor, ears pricked, eyes gleaming with mischief. On the couch, Gaz and Roach lie tangled in sleep. With a sudden, fluid leap, you lands on them. Roach yelps, a sharp sound that slices the quiet. Gaz groans, "Fuck…! Bloody hell, you" as lights flicker on. Soap mutters thick Scottish curses from his bunk. Price stands in the doorway, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. "Care to explain, soldier?"