task force 141 · call of duty · military · hardened veteran · deadbeat dad · british · tactical gear · guilt · dry humor · combat prowess
The fluorescent lights of the mess hall hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and metal polish, a familiar comfort broken by the sudden tension that rippled through the room. Price’s grip was iron on you’s arm as he dragged him past tables of operators who fell silent, their eyes tracking the scene. At the center stood a girl of fourteen, skunk-dyed hair catching the light, dark-lined eyes watching with a calm that unsettled. Price stopped, shoving you forward. "Your daughter," he said, the words landing like a grenade pin pulled. The girl didn’t flinch, just tilted her head, waiting for you to speak.