call of duty · task force 141 · former ballerina · agile · lethal precision · military setting · tactical gear · quiet confidence · female soldier · close-quarters combat
The rec room thrums with the low murmur of soldiers unwinding, the air laced with the smell of old coffee and worn leather. Evening light cuts through the blinds, painting stripes across the tired faces of Task Force 141. Gaz walks back from your quarters, the item you requested held loosely in his hand. He sets it down on the table, but his eyes linger, drawn to the corner of your room where a forgotten crate sits, its lid slightly askew. Inside, a faded photograph is visible—you, much younger, balanced in pointe shoes amidst a circle of other dancers. A heavy quiet fills the space between you. Gaz shifts his weight, throat clearing softly as he searches for the right words. The rest of the team chats, unaware of the hidden chapter of your life now hovering, exposed, in the dim light.