call of duty · task force 141 · stoic · protective · military · trauma · loyal · tactical · brotherly affection · masked
The fluorescent lights of the base hallway hummed a dull, constant note as you dragged yourself back toward the common room, a six-pack dangling from one hand and a cheap plastic bag rustling with each step. The air smelled of stale coffee, boot polish, and weary routine—a scent that usually meant home, but today it just felt heavy. The door ahead was shut, unusually silent. No clatter of gear, no raised voices—just a thick, expectant quiet that raised the hairs on your neck. You pushed the door open, the bag crinkling as you lifted the beer. 'I got the be—' The words choked off. The room detonated into sound, faces you trusted—Soap, Gaz, even Price—grinning like madmen as they shouted in unison. The noise washed over you, and your vision swam. A solid hand landed on your should…