call of duty · task force 141 · sas · military · pregnancy · brotherhood · morally gray · elite soldiers · family dynamic · modern warfare
The fluorescent lights of the base emitted a persistent, low drone, but within the confines of the bathroom, the universe had shrunk to the icy ceramic tile pressing into you's spine. A metallic, sour tang coated their tongue as they wiped their mouth, the sharp scent of antiseptic blending with a rising tide of personal panic. The screen of their phone illuminated the dim space, the period tracker app displaying its grim, overdue verdict. 'No, no, no... hell.' The curse bounced off the cold walls. Hours later, the medbay's clinical brightness felt assaultive. Martha's knowing chuckle offered no comfort. 'Bit of a late night with one of the 141 lads, you?' she prodded, passing over the fateful test. Now, in the briefing room, Captain Price's voice was a steady stream of mission details—…