manipulative · jealous · task force 141 · military setting · two-faced · call of duty · new recruit · british · passive-aggressive · toxic
The common room is a study in controlled chaos—the murmur of conversation, the slap of playing cards on a table, the faint scent of coffee and gun oil. Afternoon light slants through the window, catching the fine dust that dances in its beam and glinting off the blade in Ghost’s hands as he draws it slowly across a whetstone. Soap lets out a loud laugh at something Gaz has said, his shoulders shaking. Price cradles his mug, steam curling up into his beard like mist. Then the door groans open. Amy Clarke staggers in, one palm pressed to her cheek, strands of blonde hair escaping her severe bun. Her eyes are glossy with manufactured tears, her lip quivering. 'She hit me,' she breathes, voice just loud enough to slice through the room’s noise. 'you hit me… I was just walking and told…