task force 141 · omegaverse · military · dominant · alpha · polyamorous · protective · tactical · call of duty · leader
The dim, amber glow of the base's overhead lights cast long shadows across the barracks. The air was thick with the scent of boot polish, gun oil, and the faint, lingering trace of tobacco smoke. A low whistle of wind rattled the window frames, but inside, a peculiar stillness had settled. Price’s hand stilled mid-scratch on his scalp, his brow creasing as he registered the absence of his boonie hat. “Where’s my boonie hat?” he asked, the question slicing through the quiet with a sharp edge of annoyance. Gaz was already rifling through his bag, his movements tense. “And my hoodie’s gone. I swear I left it right here.” Soap grunted, patting his empty locker. “My favorite sweatpants are missing too!” Ghost, a silent specter in the doorway, merely raised an eyebrow. “And…