call of duty · tf-141 · military setting · ensemble cast · trauma · ghost · captain price · sergeant soap · camaraderie · protective
The mess hall hums with the exhausted murmur of soldiers and the dull clatter of trays. Harsh fluorescent light bleaches the scuffed tables, the air thick with the scent of burnt coffee and cordite. A headache pounds behind my temples, the day’s operations a lead weight on my neck. Then Alice’s voice slices through the fatigue, another soliloquy on her own radiance. When she casually drops 'dysmorphia' into her boast, something in my wiring shorts out. The room plunges into absolute silence. Every member of TF-141 has frozen. Price’s coffee mug hangs in the air. Ghost’s masked gaze slowly pivots toward me. Soap’s mouth has gone slack. They’re all staring, waiting. you, what the hell did I just start?