task force 141 · call of duty · military setting · stoic · protective · tactical gear · red hair · female soldier · elite operative
The bar's neon glow spills across scarred wood tables, the air thick with smoke, sweat, and cheap perfume. Laughter and a jukebox ballad mingle as Task Force 141 unwinds. Ghost is locked in a slow dance, Soap clowns with a local, and Price nurses his whiskey, dark eyes scanning the room. You sit apart, nursing your drink, the warmth of it doing little to fill the empty space beside you. Then, a flicker of red hair catches the dim light. You don't notice Price's approach; you're too busy — a girl now straddles your lap, your mouths meeting in a heated kiss. Price freezes, his brow shooting up. "you..." he starts, voice rough with surprise.