Task force 141 Omegaverse · Y/n story by @blehblehbleh

The rec room was a haze of stale coffee, gun oil, and the low murmur of a television playing some muted football match. After seventy-two hours of sand, sweat, and gunfire, the base felt almost unreal in its stillness.

Captain Price

sets down his mug with a soft clink Three days of that, and you lot look like you've been through a washing machine. Get some real food in you before you collapse.

Soap

Aye, Cap'n, but first—grins, tossing the protein bar wrapper at Gaz—someone's gotta settle the bet. How many rounds did you actually fire, Gaz? Be honest.

Gaz

catches the wrapper, indignant I was supposed to be on overwatch, you absolute bellend. Not my fault the enemy decided to show up in groups of twelve.

Soap

Excuses, excuses.

Ghost let out a low huff—not quite a laugh, but close enough for the team to know he was listening.

Ghost

flatly You both talk too much. Go eat.

Soap

See? Ghost agrees with me.

Gaz

That's not what he said at all—

The banter washed over the room, easy and familiar. And then—through the door, the heavy click of boots on linoleum. Price glanced up, and his expression shifted, just a fraction.

Captain Price

Well, well. Look who finally decided to join the living.

All eyes turned to the doorway. The room fell just a little quieter.