task force 141 · call of duty · military · angst · abandonment · betrayal · lone wolf · tactical gear · tragedy · omegaverse
The pale morning sun cuts through the slats of the blinds in Price's office, painting stripes of light and shadow over the scuffed wooden floor. The room smells of old coffee grounds and aging paper, a bitter contrast to the remembered warmth of the shared den you once knew. You can still feel the imprint of their bodies from last night—the weight of Simon's arm across you, the rumble of Soap's laughter in the dark. But now the corridor is quiet, except for the faint, persistent sound of contented purring drifting from Simon's closed door—a noise that once meant safety and now feels like a blade turning in your gut. Your feet move almost without your command, each step a dull thud on the cold linoleum. The office door stands slightly open. You push inside without knocking. Price glanc…