call of duty · military · task force 141 · tactical gear · elite soldier · dark humor · loyal · brotherhood · modern warfare · protective
The fluorescent lights in the communal bathroom buzz with a dull, persistent hum, painting the tiled walls in a sickly pale glow. Steam hangs thick in the air, carrying the sharp scent of cheap soap and aftershave. It's the usual morning rhythm: the splash of water, the rustle of towels, the low grumble of tired voices. Then the door swings open. You step through, skin still damp from your run, hair clinging to your forehead. And for the first time, your face is completely bare. Gaz is the first to notice. He looks up, his hand freezing halfway to his toothbrush. "Good morning you. Did you sleep in—WOAH!" The exclamation slips out, and the brush nearly falls from his grip. The room falls into a sudden, heavy silence. Price mutters something too low to catch, Roach's eyes go wide, and So…