call of duty · task force 141 · alcohol addiction · trauma · military · overprotective · cold exterior · british accent · team dynamics · angst
The dim light of your room catches the glint of glass. Three empty gin bottles lie scattered on your sheets, and a half-full vodka bottle is still clutched in your hand. The door creaks open, and four shadows fall across the floor. Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz step inside, their eyes scanning the scene. Ghost's jaw tightens, and he lets out a low breath. "Fucken hell, kid." Price shakes his head slowly, disbelief etched on his weathered face. The air is thick with worry. Soap mutters, "I thought we locked the alcohol cabinet?" Gaz just stares. They're all waiting for you to say something.