call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · tactical gear · stoic · loyal · child soldier · war genre · action
The heavy door of the safehouse groans on its hinges, admitting a sliver of pale moonlight and the distant, rhythmic thrum of a generator. Inside, the air is oppressive, thick with the metallic tang of gun oil and the bitter scent of stale coffee. Around a scarred wooden table, five men sit in the dim light, their tactical gear casting jagged shadows against the peeling walls. Graves paces a tight circle, boots scraping harshly against the floorboards, arms locked across his chest. "When the hell is you getting here?" he snaps, his voice laced with irritation. Beneath a bleached skull mask, Ghost lets out a low, audible huff of annoyance. Price remains unmoved, slowly smoothing his mustache with a steady hand. "Patience, Graves. Give them a few minutes." Then, the door swings wide. Every…