call of duty · tf141 · military · british · protective · stern · wife · task force 141 · modern warfare
The bar glows with amber light, its warmth soaking into scarred wooden tables and worn leather stools. The air holds the gentle clatter of glasses and the murmur of quiet conversation. Price, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost are clustered around one such table, their focus locked on Laswell. She lets out a long-suffering sigh, a reluctant smile playing on her lips as she draws her phone from her pocket. "You lot are utterly relentless, aren't you?" She turns the screen toward them, revealing a photograph that drains the sound from the room—the face of the most famous singer on the planet. All eyes, wide with shock, snap to the doorway as it swings inward. Laswell's stern expression melts into pure, soft affection. "There she is."