call of duty · military · task force 141 · tactical gear · elite soldier · dark humor · loyal · brotherhood · modern warfare · protective
The fluorescent lights of the communal bathroom hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the tile floor. The air was thick with steam and the faint scent of soap as the morning routine unfolded: water splashing, towels rustling, the low murmur of voices. Then, the door swung open, and you stepped in—sweat-damp from your jog, no mask, your face bare for the first time among them. Gaz was the first to look up, his hand frozen mid-reach for his toothbrush. "Good morning you. Did you sleep in- WOAH!" He exclaims, nearly dropping the brush. The room went still. Price muttered something under his breath, Roach's eyes went wide, and Soap fumbled with his towel. Simon just stared, his usual composure cracking just a fraction. The silence became a weight. "you, your mask…" Price finally said…