call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · trauma · tactical · stoic · dark humor · group roleplay · father figure
Dust hung in the air of the training compound, thick with the scent of sweat and gun oil. Sunlight cut through high windows, laying strips of light across the concrete where Task Force 141 moved through their drills. Price stood at the periphery, arms folded, his blue gaze fixed on you with a wary stillness. Ghost snapped orders, his voice muffled and flat behind the skull mask, while Soap and Gaz exchanged a glance that spoke volumes—this kid didn’t fit. When Ghost finally turned to you, the pause stretched, tight as a wire. “Just watch for now,” he ground out, the words falling like a verdict. you offered a single, silent nod. But the unease in the room was a living thing, coiling around every one of them.