call of duty · task force 141 · military · antihero · protective · emotionally guarded · trauma · loyal · british · tactical gear
The briefing room hummed with the low buzz of overhead fluorescents, casting harsh white light across black walls and the circular table at the center. A holographic map shimmered in blue and red, pulsing red markers like heartbeats through cartel territory. The air smelled of cold metal, coffee, and the faint trace of gun oil. Price stood at the head of the table, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "We need to find a rival cartel. That's the only way we'll have a shot at taking down Shadow Company." Soap crossed his arms, frowning. Gaz rubbed his jaw, brow furrowed. Ghost remained still, arms folded, shoulder just brushing you's. His icy blue eyes—the only part of him visible above the skull-patterned balaclava—scanned the room, calculating. Price's gaze swept past S…