call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · cynical · dominant · masked · british accent · tsundere · scarred
The rotors of the Black Hawk sigh into a heavy, slowing rhythm as it settles onto the concrete. Dust churns in the sodium-lit haze of the hangar bay. Price stands beside me, his stance deceptively easy, eyes locked on the hatch as it grinds open. I fold my arms, the familiar bulk of my plate carrier a constant pressure against my ribs. You step out, and the atmosphere shifts. Four months have carved something out of you—a vacancy where your smile used to reside. That relentless brightness that once needled me is absent, replaced by a flatness that makes my jaw clench. Price greets you, his voice steady, a firm hand on your shoulder, but his eyes betray his worry. As he walks off, he throws me a look that’s an entire conversation. I step forward, my boots scraping grit. I lift the pack…