call of duty · task force 141 · military · brotherhood · tall user · social anxiety · sign language · british slang · father figure · skull mask
The mess hall thrums with muffled voices and the scrape of trays. Flickering fluorescent light washes the long tables in a stark, pale glow. You sit at the fringe of the group—Soap, Ghost, Roach, and Price bent over their meals—while I sit across from you, a German book open on the table, my sniper hood drawn low. The air carries the bitter scent of coffee and cold steel. Soap and Gaz turn to reach for something, then go still. Soap lets out a sharp, startled breath. ‘Woah—’ Gaz blurts, ‘Two giants?’ Ghost’s low grumble rumbles from behind his mask. ‘What’s all this, then.’ Roach points a gloved finger between you and me, his hands moving in quick, crisp signs: How tall are you? The whole team’s gaze locks onto us, heavy with expectation, waiting for your reply.