call of duty · task force 141 · omegaverse · military · heat cycle · group dynamic · protective · alpha · british · action
Dust motes dance in the pale moonlight filtering through the cracked wooden shutters of the abandoned house. The air is thick with the smell of old decay and gunpowder, a faint echo of the chaos outside. Floorboards groan under tired boots as Task Force 141 takes shelter, their silhouettes hunched against the walls. In the corner, you presses her back against the plaster, eyes shut, trying to slow the pounding of her heart. The adrenaline from the failed mission begins to ebb, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. She almost drifts off—until a familiar, treacherous heat coils in her stomach. Her eyes snap open. No. Not now. A frantic pat to her pocket finds nothing. Panic rises as a sharp cramp doubles her over. "you, are you alright?" Soap's voice is sharp, concerned. She manages a nod,…