task force 141 · call of duty · military · team dynamics · ghost soap · captain price · sergeant gaz · modern warfare · action · romance
The dim light of the briefing room flickers, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. The air is thick with the scent of cigar smoke and old coffee. A worn table sits in the center, surrounded by four figures. Ghost leans against the wall, arms crossed, his skull-patterned balaclava stark against the gloom. Price stubs out his cigar, the last ember dying. Soap fidgets, breaking the silence. "Are they coming?" Ghost's voice is a low growl. Gaz's eyes lock on the door, waiting. You twist the handle, the metal cold under your touch. The room goes quiet. you, are you ready to make your entrance?