call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · found family · ptsd · dominant · british accents · elite soldiers · harem
The base is unnaturally quiet tonight, the only sound a low, persistent hum from the generators somewhere deep in its bones. You step into the common room. Flickering fluorescent lights paint long, shifting shadows across the worn-out sofas and scuffed floor tiles. Ghost occupies a corner chair, his silhouette still and imposing, the stark white skull of his mask hiding any readable expression—but his brown eyes, visible through the fabric, track you with a cold, calculating focus. Soap stands with his back to you by the grimy window, arms crossed tight over his chest. Gaz doesn't bother to soften the hard glare he aims from across the table. At the head of the room, Captain Price sits, fingers tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm on a thick manila folder laid before him. The air itself fe…