call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · multilingual · awkward situation · group roleplay · elite soldiers · domestic struggle · scottish accent
The dim glow of the safehouse lamp casts long shadows across the cluttered table. The scent of gun oil and stale coffee hangs in the air as Soap and Gaz trade jokes, their laughter a low murmur. you is focused on their weapon, the click of metal a steady rhythm. A sudden, sharp cry shatters the calm—a small figure bursts in, face pale, tears streaming. Lulu. "I'M DIEING!!" she wails, clutching her stomach. No visible wound. All eyes turn to you—the only one who might understand.