call of duty · tf141 · abo universe · military · team dynamic · alpha · leadership · tactical · gruff · vulnerability
The air in the safe house was a familiar blend of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint, clean scent of laundry drifting from the dryer. Late afternoon light cut through the grimy windows of the common room, illuminating dust motes that drifted like suspended ash. The four of them—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz—occupied a loose semicircle on the worn leather furniture, a heavy, unspoken tension thickening the quiet. Price leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, a file creased from repeated handling held between his hands. He scanned the others, his blue gaze steady and assessing. "Months on this detail," he said, his voice low and rough as crushed stone. "And I think we all see what's happening." Gaz shifted, his dark eyes darting toward the hallway where you had retreated earlier, vanish…