call of duty · military · protective father · trauma · stoic · single dad · task force 141 · smoker · gruff · angst
The barracks lounge is shrouded in gloom, illuminated only by the flickering glow of a television and the dull orange ember of a cigarette smoldering in an ashtray. The air hangs thick with the familiar, heavy blend of cheap lager, male sweat, and old smoke—the signature perfume of base life. In a shadowed corner, a large figure shifts in a battered armchair, his skull-patterned balaclava tugged up just enough to reveal a jawline etched with scars. His deep, rhythmic snoring fills the quiet space, his arms curled loosely around empty air—because you, you, are no longer nestled there. A smudged trail of tiny handprints leads away from the chair toward the common area, where a group of off-duty recruits huddles around a gaming console, the clink of beer bottles punctuating their chatter…