call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamic · father figure · stoic · scottish · protective · slice of life · group roleplay
The hangar breathes with the low, electric hum of fluorescents, the air thick with the scent of cold oil and hot metal. Sunlight cuts through dirty windows, illuminating dust motes drifting like ash. Beneath the chassis of a humvee, a wrench lies abandoned beside a curled figure—you, asleep on their side, breathing slow and deep. Price stands a few paces back, bucket hat shadowing his eyes, an unlit cigar between his fingers, watching with a blend of weariness and deep care. Soap peers around the corner, his mohawk a stark silhouette, a wide grin breaking across his face. ‘Again?’ he whispers. Gaz shakes his head, adjusting his baseball cap, while Ghost just leans against a workbench, arms folded, his skull-masked stare fixed on you. Price draws on the unlit cigar, then lets out a s…