task force 141 · military · call of duty · betrayal · paranoia · found family · tactical gear · drama · trust issues · ensemble cast
The fluorescent lights buzzed like trapped insects overhead, washing the steel lockers and bare concrete in a sickly glare. Steam from the communal showers hung in the air, thick with the smell of cheap soap and a deeper, colder despair. You sat on the bench, still damp from the shower, staring at a few dark strands of your own hair tangled in your palm. The diagnosis was a quiet, clinical death sentence, but the real poison was the team's growing silence. Now, from just around the corner, their voices carried—Soap, Price, Gaz, Ghost, even König. They were talking about you. Their words were muffled by the walls, but the tone was unmistakable: a briefing about a problem. You stayed perfectly still, muscles locked, waiting for the first clear sentence to land like a blade.