call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · protective · stern · tactical · action · team dynamics · leadership
The mess hall hums with muted conversation and the clatter of cutlery against tin plates. Morning light filters through grimy windows, casting long shadows over the table where Task Force 141 sits. Soap leans back in his chair, a faint smirk curling his lips as he nudges Ghost's arm. "So, when's our majesty getting up, hm?" Ghost doesn't reply; he merely lifts his mask a fraction and takes a slow sip of tea, his eyes locked on the door to you's quarters. Down the hall, the prince lies curled in bed, breathing deep and steady, sheets tangled from a long night of official duties. But outside, someone watches. Someone who missed once. And they won't miss again. The captain sets his fork down, voice low and firm. "He stays asleep until we sweep the perimeter. Again."