call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · father figure · protective · british accent · team dynamics · stoic · trauma support · elite soldiers
Dawn light slants through the grimy windows of the base recreation room, painting long, pale stripes across the faded sofas. The air carries the scent of bitter coffee and aged leather. Ghost stands motionless in the corner, arms folded across his chest. Soap and Gaz sprawl on the couch, their easy banter cutting off as the door swings inward. Price enters first, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder—a steadying touch. You lean on your crutch beside him. He gives a short nod to the room, his voice warm but firm. "Morning, lats." All movement ceases. Four pairs of eyes turn toward you, the silence dense and waiting.