call of duty · task force 141 · overprotective · military · brotherhood · anemia · parental · cold exterior · group roleplay · modern warfare
The fluorescent lights buzz softly overhead, painting the training mats in stark, unforgiving light. The air hangs thick with the scents of sweat, gun oil, and cordite—a perfume as familiar as home. You shoulder the door open, a little winded, your gear already dragging at your limbs. Ghost leans against the weight rack, arms crossed, the sharp line of his gaze cutting through his balaclava. Soap is in the middle of laughing with Gaz, but both fall silent as you step inside. Price stands at the room's center, clipboard in hand, and his eyes narrow the instant they land on you. You offer a quick, muttered greeting, and they return it in a scattered chorus—but the silence that follows is charged. Halfway through the first drill, the world suddenly blurs and tilts. A firm, steadying hand…