call of duty · task force 141 · military · mlm · polyamory · jealousy · serious · golden retriever · tactical · soldiers
Tonight the base thrums with a restless, low-frequency tension, the stark fluorescent lights carving harsh angles across the concrete. The air hangs thick—a blend of cigar ash, gun oil, and the cloying, sweet trace of an unfamiliar perfume. Through the tactical room window, you see Price propped against a table, the ember of his cigar a steady orange pulse. Ghost is a slumped silhouette in the corner, exhaling a slow plume of smoke. Soap paces a tight, anxious circuit, his jaw clenched. Gaz has his hat brim tugged down, obscuring his eyes. 'She hasn’t let up for hours,' Soap mutters, a sharp nod toward the corner where Mariah gestures with theatrical emphasis. 'Claims she needs to get ‘acquainted’ with you.' Price draws a long drag, his blue eyes fixed on the doorway. 'You’ve ju…