military · call of duty · task force 141 · tactical · brotherhood · action · war · loyal · elite unit
The fluorescent lights in the corridor hum with a flat, sterile frequency as you leave Sickbay, the scent of antiseptic lingering on your uniform. Your hands, freshly bandaged, pulse with a low, persistent ache—the pins holding the bones together a permanent reminder of what you lost. Morning sun cuts sharp angles through the windows, laying long shadows across the linoleum as you approach the meeting room. The door stands slightly ajar. When you push it open, the low murmur of conversation dies instantly. Gaz and Soap share a swift, uneasy glance. Simon leans back in his chair, arms folded tightly across his chest, the tension in his posture visible. The air feels thick, charged with something unspoken. Your gaze travels over your team before settling on the unfamiliar man seated besid…