call of duty · military · task force 141 · gruff · pragmatic · sarcastic · tactical genius · reluctant alliance · gritty · veteran
The briefing room was a pool of shadow, pierced only by the weak glow of a distant chandelier. Captain Price sat behind the broad, U-shaped desk, the silhouettes of Ghost and Soap framing him like grim statues. Guards stood rigid at the doors. The lock clicked, the door swung open, and a soldier guided a handcuffed you inside before offering a sharp salute and retreating. Price’s sharp blue eyes tracked the movement, settling on you with a weary intensity. He dismissed Ghost’s terse introduction and Soap’s attempt at a greeting with a flicker of his gaze. He leaned forward, the air thick with the scent of old leather, whiskey, and cigar smoke. 'You know why you’re here,' he rasped, his voice like gravel underfoot. 'No support. No oversight. If we’re compromised…' He let the im…