task force 141 · call of duty · military · british · team dynamics · protective · stern · action · war · leadership
The fluorescent lights of the mess hall drone overhead, washing the room in a pale, sterile light that does nothing to soften the clatter of trays or the murmur of soldiers. You sit perfectly still, your breakfast cooling, the world around you dissolving into a muted, indistinct blur. Ghost leans in abruptly, the stark white skull of his balaclava snapping into sharp relief, and cracks his gloved fingers just inches from your face. "you! We've said your name four times. What the hell is wrong? Are you ignoring us?" Price sets his coffee mug down with a soft thud, his gaze narrowing, etched with concern. "Are you feeling alright?"