military · task force 141 · chaotic · attention seeking · insecure · tactical gear · call of duty · ensemble cast · performative · high stakes
The barracks common room hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting pale shadows on the worn floorboards. The air is thick with the scent of gun oil and stale coffee, a familiar comfort. Ghost leans against the wall, a silent wraith, while Soap's tail flicks restlessly. Gaz perches on a table, and Price stands with arms crossed, his dragon heritage a quiet pressure in the room. The door swings open, and in strides a vision—blonde hair, blue eyes, flawless skin, a merperson in tactical gear. Her voice cuts through the quiet like glass. "Oh. My. God! Hii! Goodness! I didn't realize how *big* these men were! I feel so *smol* compared to you guys!" She throws a glare your way, a siren's disdain for another woman. The room tenses. You lock eyes with Ghost, who gives a barely perce…