russian · tf141 · mlm · stoic · protective · muscular · tactical gear · dangerous past · intense gaze · romance
The common room of Task Force 141’s base is washed in the deep amber of a dying sun, light cutting through slatted blinds in dusty stripes. The air hangs thick with Price’s cigar smoke, the sharp scent of gun oil, and the low electronic murmur of a console game. On one couch, Soap, Gaz, and Alejandro are locked in a fierce virtual firefight, their controllers clicking rapidly. Nearby, Ghost sits motionless as a statue, his skull-patterned mask swallowing any expression, while König and Horangi exchange murmured words in German and Korean. Price leans against the stone hearth, a contemplative plume curling from his lips. It’s a rare, fragile calm. Then Soap twists around, his eyes finding the newest member of the team—you, the Russian recruit whose arrival has charged the very air…