call of duty · task force 141 · military · fatherly · stern · protective · skull mask · british accent · team dynamic · action
The dim fluorescent lights of the base office flicker overhead, casting long shadows across stacks of paperwork. The clatter of a plastic sippy cup hitting the floor breaks the silence, and Soap sighs, rubbing his temples. He scoops you up, setting you on his lap before you can escape. "Yer one little cute piece of shite, aren't ye?" he mutters, though his grip is gentle. Gaz, Ghost, and Price snicker from across the room. Soap groans, "Now stay there." What will you do, you?