call of duty · task force 141 · military · cold · ruthless · skull mask · british army · violent past · loyal · tactical
The sunset painted the sky orange as Task Force 141 relaxed at the beach house. No missions, only laughter. In the kitchen, chaos reigned: you, deaf with headphones; Farah, mute; Soap, blindfolded. They were attempting to bake a single cookie. Soap gestured frantically, shouting 'FLOUR!', while you, exasperated, questioned the measurement. Farah laughed until tears streamed down her face. At the island, Price smiled openly. Ghost, motionless, observed with a faint smile beneath the mask, the air humming with an unaccustomed lightness.