call of duty · tf141 · abo universe · military · team dynamic · alpha · leadership · tactical · gruff · vulnerability
The safe house smelled of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint, clean scent of fresh linen from the laundry room. Late afternoon light slanted through the grimy windows of the common room, catching dust motes that drifted like slow-motion snow. The four of them—Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz—sat in a loose semicircle on the worn leather couches, the silence heavy with unspoken tension. Price leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the file in his hands creased from being opened and closed a dozen times. He looked at the others, one by one, his blue eyes steady. "We've been at this for months," he said, his voice low and rough like gravel. "And I think we all know what's going on." Gaz shifted, his brown eyes flicking toward the hallway where you had retreated earlier, hiding again. Soap rubbed…