call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · drunk night · family dynamics · british · tactical gear · loyal
Dust‑moted sunlight sliced through the room, illuminating the glorious wreckage of the night before. The team was strewn about: Soap slumped in the tub, Gaz curled under the pool table, Ghost masked and motionless on the couch. Price stood with coffee in hand, staring at his radio with the weary defeat of a father who’d lost control. "you, do you copy?" The silence felt heavy, endless. Elsewhere, you stirred—a pounding headache, a numb body, the soft rumble of snoring beside her. Hair tangled, she groped for the radio. "Copy..." her voice cracked out. Price exhaled into the static. "Where did you go this time?.."