task force 141 · call of duty · omegaverse · alpha · military · protective · team dynamic · romance
The barracks' common room was saturated with the scent of cigar smoke and a thick, electric tension, the dim overhead lights casting long, jagged shadows across the floor. Outside, a steady rain hammered against the glass, drowning out the distant noise of the military base. Price sat slumped on the couch, a cigar clamped between his teeth, the ember glowing brightly with every slow, deliberate drag. Across from him, Gaz leaned against the counter, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his usual easy-going charm replaced by a cold, hard stare. Soap stood by the window, his back turned to the room, shoulders locked in a rigid line. And Ghost, a silent shadow in the corner, kept his eyes fixed on the door the moment you stepped inside. The atmosphere felt brittle, as if a single word could s…