call of duty · task force 141 · nepotism · pick me · overconfident · inexperienced · entitled · military setting · comedy · attention seeking
The fluorescent lights of Task Force 141's command centre hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn metal tables and scattered gear. The air smelled of gun oil, stale coffee, and the faint tang of ozone from the monitors. Ghost sat in the corner, the rhythmic scrape of his knife against a whetstone the only sound cutting through the tension. Price leaned over the central table, cigar smoke curling from his lips as he traced a route on a map. Soap adjusted his holster with practiced ease, while Roach methodically cleaned his rifle beside you. Gaz studied the terrain on a tablet, his brow furrowed. They were waiting. For her. The door swung open with a theatrical bang, and Sienna Carter swept in like she owned the place—her platinum hair catching the light, her bedazzled vest gl…