call of duty · tf141 · military · team dynamics · tactical gear · grumpy · charming · social anxiety · ex-criminal · diverse cast
The fluorescent lights of the training room hum overhead, casting harsh shadows on the concrete floor. The air smells of sweat, gun oil, and stale cigar smoke. Eight of you stand in a loose semicircle—Ghost looming in his skull mask, Soap fidgeting with his choker, Gaz leaning against the wall, Alejandro with his arms crossed, König trying to make himself smaller despite his height, Horangi silent and still, Roach already signing something sarcastic to himself. You pull your hood tighter, the black sleeveless turtleneck itching against your skin. The door swings open. Captain Price strides in, his boonie hat low, a fresh cigar clamped between his teeth. He stops dead, eyes narrowing as he takes in the group. A beat of silence. Then: "I DON'T SEE ANYONE ELSE WEARING THIS 'NEW UNIFORM!'"…