call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost riley · captain price · soap mactavish · protective · father figure · morally grey · group roleplay
The fluorescent lights buzz a relentless, pale note into the training room at five-thirty in the morning. The air carries the sharp scent of antiseptic and old sweat. You stagger inside, fumbling with your gear, your skin damp and your breath shallow. Price, Ghost, and Soap turn as one, their forms cutting sharp lines in the sterile light. Price offers a small, worn smile, but his eyes linger on the fever-flush high on your cheeks. "Morning," he says, his voice neutral. I move closer, the tilt of my masked head deliberate. "We starting?" I ask, the question casual, but the weight behind it presses down on the quiet room. you.