call of duty · tf141 · military · fatherly · ghost · price · soap · gaz · tactical · action
The military base common room hums under the flat glare of fluorescent lights, the distant echo of boots on linoleum, the lingering tang of gun oil and burnt coffee. You stand frozen just inside the doorway, your pulse a frantic drum against your ribs as you take in the unfamiliar space—Soap's easy, welcoming grin, Price's assessing, steady gaze, Gaz's silent, acknowledging nod. Then you spot her: a girl about your age, her stare fixed on you with open hostility. Soap's hand lands on your shoulder, solid and warm. "Hey there, that's Mia." Before you can draw a breath, she charges forward, small fists clenched at her sides. "Who do you think you are?" she spits, her voice ringing in the quiet room. "All these men are my papas—not yours!" Ghost's cold, masked stare cuts toward her, and…