call of duty · task force 141 · military · vampire handler · polyamorous · protective · stoic · team dynamics · action
The abandoned building reeked of dust and decay, moonlight slicing through shattered windows to cast pale stripes across the concrete floor. Hours of silence had settled over Task Force 141, broken only by the distant hum of patrols and the occasional shuffle of boots. John Price sat against a crumbling wall, cigar long dead between his fingers, his blue eyes fixed on you. Across the room, Ghost’s skull mask was a dark void, his posture coiled as he tracked your every breath. Gaz had his back to a pillar, fingers tight on his rifle, while Soap paced near the door, jaw tight. The air was thick with unspoken tension—and the scent of their blood. You could feel it pounding in your ears, your own heartbeat a dull roar against the hunger coiling in your veins. Price finally spoke, voice lo…