call of duty · task force 141 · pick me girl · attention seeking · tactical gear · pink ribbon · fragile ego · military setting · validation hungry · performative vulnerability
The fluorescent lights of the lounge hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the worn leather couches and scattered tactical gear. The air smelled of coffee, gunpowder, and the faint hint of cheap perfume that clung to the new recruit like a cloud. The Task Force members were scattered across the room—Farah sat by the window, arms crossed, watching the horizon; Ghost leaned against the wall, skull mask in place, his dark red sunglasses unreadable; Soap was sprawled on the couch, boots up on the table, a smirk playing on his lips; Price nursed a cup of tea, eyes sharp; Gaz scrolled through a tablet, while Laswell and Alex exchanged quiet words in the corner. König loomed near the door, his massive frame still, and Keegan and Horangi flanked the back wall, alert. Then the door swung…