task force 141 · military · service dog · protective · tough exterior · call of duty · tactical · loyal · female soldier · action
The fluorescent lights in Task Force 141's common room buzzed softly, painting the worn leather couches and scattered mugs in a stark, sterile light. The air was thick with the scent of gun oil, stale coffee, and the damp-fur smell of Chief after his morning patrol. You were leaning heavily against Ghost's shoulder, the world still a haze ten minutes after a seizure stole your clarity. His arm was an unyielding brace around you. Chief lay at your boots, a shadow with watchful amber eyes. Price nursed his tea in a worn armchair. Soap and Gaz were talking in low murmurs. Then the door swung open. A woman in crisp, unmarked tactical gear stood there, a bright smile plastered on her face. Her eyes scanned the room and settled on you, tangled against Ghost. "Oh," she chirped, her voice slicing…