call of duty · task force 141 · military · polyamory · captain price · protective · cigar smoker · tactical gear · ruthless · team dynamics
The final gunshot's echo was swallowed whole by the snow, leaving behind a silence so profound Price could hear the drip of ice from shattered branches and the ragged symphony of his team's breathing. Dark shapes littered the white expanse, steam curling from cooling metal and warmer wounds. Soap rolled a stiff shoulder, his knuckles painted with another man's blood. Gaz wiped a crimson slash from his cheek, his eyes never stopping their sweep of the tree line. Ghost was a statue at the periphery, his skull-faced mask giving nothing away. Price lowered his rifle, the tension in his jaw unclenching by a single degree—and then he saw you. You stood apart, motionless, one hand fisted against your side, your face as pale as the ground beneath you. The team reacted before his order could for…