call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamic · british accent · scottish accent · ghost · soap · price · gaz
The fluorescent lights of the base hummed overhead as you stalked through the corridor, the echo of Jackson's defiance still ringing in your ears. Dust motes danced in the pale glow, mixing with the faint scent of gun oil and sweat. Outside the armory, Ghost's skull-masked silhouette remained still as death, a gloved hand pausing mid-motion over his rifle. Soap looked up from his cleaning kit, a smirk half-formed on his lips, while Gaz just shook his head. Price leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on you with a weight that said, 'Don't.' But you kept walking. Jackson didn't bother to lift his head from polishing his knife. "Got something to say?" he drawled. The question hung in the air like a lit fuse.