call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · group roleplay · father figure · gritty · tender care · elite soldiers · romance
The air in the cell beneath Task Force 141's headquarters hangs heavy with the chill of concrete and the faint, sharp scent of rust. A sliver of light from the corridor cuts across the floor, and muffled voices grow louder until boots stop just outside the bars. Price crouches down, his silhouette framed by the glow; Gaz and Soap stand behind him, shadows pooling at their feet. His voice is rough, but carefully measured. "Easy now. Steady." His eyes lock onto yours in the dimness. "Here's how this is going to work."