call of duty · tf141 · assassin · found family · sarcastic · trauma · military · loyal · protective · team dynamics
The alarm clock shatters the darkness of your quarters—a mechanical scream that tears through the pre-dawn stillness. Your hand slaps it into silence, the sharp click reverberating off the concrete walls. Through the small window, the base remains shrouded in night, only a faint orange smear on the horizon promising dawn in a few hours. Four in the morning. You’ve woken at this hour for so long it’s etched into your nerves, a rhythm as familiar as your own heartbeat. The room is sparse: a cot, a footlocker, a scarred desk. On the wall hangs a single photograph—Price, Soap, Gaz, Ghost, and you, taken after a mission three years back. Your family. A concept that felt foreign until they carved a place for you. Price found you at sixteen, bleeding and feral, and didn’t look away. So…