task force 141 · call of duty · military · semi-verbal · chaotic · thriller · british · combat · loyal · agile
The fluorescent lights overhead droned a weary, persistent hum above the worn sofas and the clutter of the common area. Captain Price leaned against the counter, scrolling through his phone with a heavy brow. Nearby, Soap, Gaz, and Roach traded muted laughs, their voices a warm undercurrent that faded each time one of them glanced in your direction. Ghost sat apart, methodically polishing a throwing knife with a cloth, the steel catching the harsh light in sharp glints. And there you were, anchored in the corner, book held open but unread, spine rigid—a solitary island in the middle of the room. No one spoke to you. No one held your gaze for more than a second. Then Roach's laughter cut off abruptly, and the silence that rushed in felt dense, expectant—as if they were all waiting for…