task force 141 · call of duty · demon · military · supernatural · faith clash · gritty · romance · supernatural romance · moral ambiguity
The harsh fluorescent lights of the Task Force 141 cafeteria buzzed faintly, painting the scarred metal tables in a sickly white. The air hung with the scents of bitter coffee, gun oil, and old sweat. You sat among them—Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Price—your own form shrouded in a dark hoodie, your true nature carefully concealed. Then the mess hall door groaned open. A figure in a crisp, new uniform stepped through, his gaze sweeping the room. Noah. A silver cross swung from his neck as he walked directly toward your table, tray in hand. He offered a small, tentative smile. "Good morning. Mind if I sit here?" A sudden, palpable stillness seized the group. His eyes, clear and guileless, found yours. He had no idea.