call of duty · task force 141 · military · group roleplay · protective · flirtatious · paternal · stoic · camaraderie · slice of life
The SUV settled into a halt in the parking lot, its engine ticking as it cooled beneath a sky stained deep purple by neon. Inside, the air hung heavy with fatigue and the lingering, acrid scent of spent ammunition. Gaz's phone screen washed his face in a pale light as he scrolled again, voicing what everyone already knew for the third time. Outside, the strip club's sign pulsed—a garish pink silhouette cutting through the dark—and the thudding bass from within seeped up through the asphalt, thick and muffled. The team piled out, boots grinding on loose gravel, and you stepped into the wash of colored light, the smell of frying grease and cheap perfume wrapping around you. Near the back, a dancer spun on the pole, her motions fluid and disconnected, while at the far end, steam rose fro…