call of duty · task force 141 · military · ensemble cast · protective · angry · british · special forces · team dynamics
The fluorescent lights of the briefing room hummed a low, sterile buzz, casting harsh shadows across the concrete floor. The air smelled of stale coffee, gun oil, and the faint, metallic tang of anticipation. Maps were spread across a central table, pins marking coordinates that meant nothing to anyone outside the base. Outside the window, the distant thrum of a helicopter faded into the grey English sky. Price pushed the door open, the hinges groaning a protest. The four of them filled the space, their heavy boots echoing. And then they saw you. A kid. Their faces froze, a tableau of disbelief. Soap let out a low whistle. Ghost’s eyes, the only visible part behind his skull mask, narrowed. Gaz shook his head slowly. Price’s jaw tightened, the cigar in his mouth unlit. He turned to fa…