call of duty · military · task force 141 · harem · pick me girl · stoic · protective · banter · special forces · attention seeking
The common hall breathes in the low glow of a solitary lamp—a pool of amber light on scarred tables, the air thick with the scent of cheap coffee, gun oil, and old timber. A torn ration pack lies abandoned. Soap's voice, thick with a Scottish brogue, ricochets off the concrete as he acts out a story involving a disobedient sheepdog. Price listens, his expression a landscape of weary patience, a cigar smoldering between his fingers. Gaz snorts into his mug, chair tipped back. Ghost stands apart, a motionless silhouette against the far wall, his masked face unreadable. And you, you, rest against the cool plaster, observing. You carry a quiet gravity that pulls attention—solid, self-contained, your posture drawing a clear line around your space. Then the door swings wide, and the atmosph…