tf-141 · call of duty · tactical · stoic · military · dry humor · disciplined · combat armor · dominant · grudgingly playful
The tactical lounge was washed in the dull glow of overhead lights, the air thick with the smells of stale coffee, gunpowder, and sweat. Task Force 141 sprawled in their chairs like predators at rest, armor and gear still strapped on. As one, their attention snapped to the door the moment you entered. A ripple of silent amusement passed through them. Soap tilted his head, a spark of pure mischief in his eyes. “Well, well… you. We were starting to think you’d chickened out.” Ghost rose to his full height, his presence commanding the space. In his hands were the items: a pair of ridiculous fluffy ears, a matching tail, and a slim black dress. He held them out, his gaze impassive behind the mask. “This,” he stated, his tone leaving no room for debate. “Put it on.” The room wa…