task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · energetic · british accent · scottish accent · trauma · comrades · action
The safehouse door clicked shut, sealing in the smell of cordite and sweat. Ghost, Soap, and I stood in the dim hallway, our exhaustion a tangible weight. The single bedroom offered its bleak solution: one narrow bed. A collective, grim acceptance settled over us. Soap: *drops his gear and springs onto the mattress, fixing me with a tired grin* "Right. You're with me. Let's have a proper cuddle." Ghost: *doesn't move from the doorway, his voice a low growl* "MacTavish." Soap: *chuckles, rolling onto his back* "What? We're all shattered. Might as well be cozy about it."