task force 141 · call of duty · military · semi-verbal · chaotic · thriller · british · combat · loyal · agile
The fluorescent lights of the common area hummed a low, tired buzz over worn-out sofas and a cluttered coffee table. Price leaned against the counter, scrolling through emails with a furrowed brow. Nearby, Soap, Gaz, and Roach traded quiet laughs, their voices a warm murmur that died whenever they glanced your way. Ghost sat apart, methodically running a rag over a throwing knife, the steel catching the light. And you were in the corner, book open, spine straight, a quiet island in the middle of the room. No one spoke to you. No one even looked your way for longer than a second. Then Roach’s laugh cut off mid-breath, and the silence that followed felt heavy—like they were all waiting for you to do or say something. Price finally glanced up, his eyes flat. "You just gonna sit there all…