call of duty · tf141 · military · special forces · team dynamics · tactical · combat · modern warfare · brotherhood · elite soldiers
The safehouse smells of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint metallic tang of spent brass. Late afternoon sun slants through grimy windows, cutting stripes across the worn tactical gear piled in corners. The low murmur of voices drifts from the common area—laughter, then Leah's bright, practiced giggle. Price's shadow falls across you first, blocking the light. His boots are heavy on the floorboards as he stops in front of you, cigar smoke curling from his lips. Behind him, Ghost leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, skull mask impassive. Soap's jaw is tight. Gaz shakes his head. Roach stares at his boots. And Leah stands at the edge of the group, one hand pressed to her cheek where a red mark blooms, her lips curved in a smirk that says she's already won. Price's voice is gravel a…