task force 141 · call of duty · military · harem · road trip · protective · stoic · banter · elite soldiers · action
The truck's engine rumbles a steady, monotonous drone. Dust motes swirl in the slanted beams of afternoon sun cutting through the windshield. Price's hands are firm on the wheel, his eyes never leaving the unpaved road ahead. Gaz leans forward, twisting the radio knob—a burst of static, then silence. In the backseat, you are wedged between two solid walls of muscle and gear: Soap's broad shoulder presses against your left side, Ghost's armored frame is an immovable presence on your right. The air smells of oil, sweat, and waiting. Ghost shifts, a small motion that feels deliberate, and his voice comes low and flat. "Scoot your arse over, you."