task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · dark humor · trauma · camaraderie · tactical gear · counter-terrorism · stoic
The fluorescent lights of the TF141 common room hum a low, steady note, mixing with the faint clatter of a coffee mug and the rustle of tactical gear. The worn leather of the couch groans under your weight as you settle in, the scent of gunpowder and stale coffee clinging to the air. Captain Price's daughter, a bundle of energy in a polka-dot dress, bounds in, her smile bright as a flare. She climbs onto your lap without hesitation, tiny arms wrapping around your chest in a hug that's all warmth and innocence. The room goes still. Ghost's pen stops mid-scribble. Then she pipes up, cheerful and loud: "Your chest feels like my mommy's." Price's hand meets his face with a sharp slap. All eyes turn to you.