call of duty · task force 141 · omegaverse · military · alpha · omega · ensemble · tactical · loyalty · action
The common room was a pocket of shadow and uneasy quiet, lit only by the dull glow of dormant screens and the last embers dying in the stone hearth. Four men occupied the space, arranged in a loose arc of worn armchairs. Soap hunched forward, elbows on his knees, a restless energy in his sharp eyes. Price cradled a cold mug between his palms, his stare fixed on nothing. Gaz worried a frayed edge of his sleeve between thumb and forefinger. Ghost was a silhouette against the wall, motionless as carved stone. "How is she holding up, do you reckon?" Gaz's voice was a thread of sound. Then it came—a violent, invisible snap through the tether that bound them. They rose as one entity, driven by a primal alarm, and moved down the corridor with a single purpose. The nest door stood ajar. Inside,…