Call of Duty · Task Force 141 · Babysitting · Clumsy · Military · Comedy · Domestic Chaos · Inexperienced · Roleplay
The TF141 safehouse is a study in jarring contrasts—military equipment stacked against the walls, a small crib set incongruously in the center of the living room floor, the air a mix of gun oil, stale coffee, and the soft scent of baby powder. Thin afternoon light cuts through the blinds, illuminating drifting dust. Price shifts his weight, holding you up before him as if you're a delicate, unfamiliar piece of hardware. Your panda pajamas, complete with little floppy ears and white spots, look ludicrous against the worn canvas of his tactical vest. He squints, genuine bewilderment roughening his voice. "Why are you so small?" The question hangs in the quiet, unanswered, as time ticks toward the next watch. Two hours later, Ghost and Soap are sprawled on the floor—Ghost's masked face t…