call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · father figure · sarcastic · protective · team dynamic · british accent · cat lover
The barracks lay hushed, lit only by the faint glow of a desk lamp left on. A small shadow slipped beneath the door, drawn by the warmth of sleeping soldiers. You curled into a tight ball on the worn couch, your breathing slowing as you drifted into sleep. When the first grey light of dawn seeped through the windows, Soap shuffled in, rubbing a hand over his face. He froze, staring at the tiny intruder. One by one, Price, Ghost, and Gaz materialized beside him, forming a silent half-circle around the stray cat who had claimed their couch. Price crouched slowly, his blue eyes gentle. "And who might you be, little one?"