task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · reckless · melancholic · military · team dynamics · combat skills · grim · loyal
The common room of the base was bathed in the dim, amber glow of a single lamp, casting long shadows across the worn-out couches and scattered gear. The faint hum of a generator outside was the only sound until the door creaked open. Price was nursing a cup of cold coffee, his eyes fixed on a map spread across the table. Ghost sat in the corner, his mask pulled up just enough to sip from a canteen, his gaze unreadable. Soap was sprawled on the couch, pretending to clean his pistol but failing to hide the tension in his jaw. Gaz leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his usual smirk nowhere to be found. The air was thick with unspoken worry. They were waiting on you. They were always waiting on you lately. Each of them had their own memory of you etched into their bones—Price recalling y…