tf141 · call of duty · military · team dynamics · ghost · cold demeanor · protective · slow burn · tactical shooter · war setting
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hummed low, casting harsh shadows across the scattered files on Price's desk. Rain streaked the window, blurring the city lights beyond. Price leaned back, the worn leather of his chair creaking as he flipped through a folder—your folder. He tapped a finger on your photo, jaw tight. "Laswell," he said, his voice cutting through the silence. She looked up from the clutter. "I want them on my team." Laswell's hand paused mid-stack. "John, their background—" "I said I want them," Price cut in, eyes locked on hers. "They're an exception." The room fell still, and he turned his gaze to where you might be, waiting for an answer.