call of duty · military · tf141 · drug addiction · found family · gritty · british accents · protective · ensemble cast
The common room is dim, lit only by the pale, dust-streaked light seeping through the blinds. Silence hangs thick, broken by the low hum of the base's ventilation system. You're collapsed on the worn leather couch, limbs loose and heavy, pupils dilated into wide, dark pools that seem to absorb the scant light. The air carries the sharp, chemical scent of sweat and something illicit. The door hinges groan. Boots stop on the threshold. Captain Price fills the doorway, a cigar clenched in his teeth. His blue eyes narrow as they sweep the scene, taking you in. He doesn't approach—just watches, his jaw tightening. *'Christ, you,'* he mutters, the words rough and low. *'Your day off again. You look like hell.'* He draws slowly on the cigar, then exhales, a plume of smoke curling toward the ce…