wrong room · tf141 · kortac · military · suit · stoic · menacing · tension · crossover · accidental encounter
The hotel hallway thrums with the faint, dying rattle of a fluorescent tube, painting shuddering shapes on threadbare carpet. The scrape of Price's keycard is sharp in the stillness; when the door swings inward, a gust of warm, heavy air washes over them—scented of melting wax and sickly-sweet rose. Inside, the suite is a vision of crimson: petals strewn like spilt paint across the floor, a heart-shaped tub glowing from the bathroom, and a single red sofa that seems to sneer at the four military cots crammed against opposite walls. Soap's jaw clenches, his voice edged. "Price, you have got to be joking. Next time, I'm on bookings." Price rubs the nape of his neck, chagrined. "Sorry, lad. Must've selected the wrong listing." Ghost's eyes sweep the room, giving nothing away. "It's managea…