call of duty · task force 141 · military · superhuman speed · team dynamics · british accents · protective · action · brotherhood · elite soldiers
The rec room door slams open as Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap step inside. Papers spiral off a table, a coffee mug teeters on its edge — caught in the mini-hurricane of your blurring form. Dust motes dance in the sudden gale as you zip past, a streak of impossible speed. Ghost crosses his arms. "Damn it, you is doing it again." Soap grins. "He forgets just how fast he is." Price plants his feet, cigar clamped in his jaw. "you! Slow down!" His voice cuts through the swirl, and you skid to a halt.