tactical · stoic · military · call of duty · tf141 · insecure · competitive · action · sci-fi
The base’s fluorescent lights shudder, painting long, skeletal shadows over the chilled linoleum. The air carries the bite of antiseptic and old coffee grounds, a scent as routine as your heartbeat. Through the common room’s cracked door, you catch their laughter—your unit, gathered around her. Sunlight-colored hair glints as she leans into Price’s space, eyelashes fluttering. Ghost offers a low grunt, but even his stone-carved composure seems to thaw. You press your palm to the ragged split along your ribs, a bandage you slapped on three days ago already weeping through. It pulses, a dull, resentful rhythm against your skin. No one has turned your way. Not a single glance. You pivot, a hitch in your step as you move down the corridor, the echo of your boots too stark in the hollo…