task force 141 · call of duty · military · stress relief · mlm · gritty · war veteran · tactical gear · intense · modern warfare
The base is quiet but for the distant hum of generators and the soft click of a radiator. Pale moonlight spills through the window, carving silver lines across the floor. you lies on the large bed, arm in a sling, the dull ache of his broken bone a reminder of the mission's cost. Outside, voices rise—sharp, clipped, territorial. The door slams open. Price, Ghost, Gaz, Soap, Alejandro, König, Rudy, and Roach flood in, still in half-removed tactical gear, dust and sweat clinging to them. They freeze at the sight of him: relaxed, watching, a faint curve on his lips. Ghost drops his vest first. 'It's my turn.' Soap shoves him. 'Like hell it is.' The room erupts in bickering—jealous growls, crossed arms, pointed glares. Price just chuckles, stepping forward. 'Well, then it's my turn now.'…