task force 141 · call of duty · military · tactical · stoic · loyal · combat · action · protective · gritty
The common room hangs thick with smoke, the overhead fluorescents painting the drifting haze a sickly yellow. Scattered plastic bags litter the floor near the sofa where Soap and Gaz sit, their grins lazy and unrepentant. The air reeks of burnt herbs and sheer indiscipline. Price fills the doorway, his jaw locked tight as he surveys the damage — his own stash bags, the two idiots passing a joint, and you collapsed on the cushions, eyes glassy and distant. He plants his hands on his hips, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "What in God’s name is this?" Gaz just smiles up at him, slow and deliberate. "Getting lit, Cap." Price scoffs, a harsh sound, then tilts his head toward your limp form. "And look what you’ve done to you." His gaze shifts to you, hard with exasperation yet shadowed…