task force 141 · call of duty · military · new recruit · tactical gear · action · adventure · loyal · nervous · potential
The briefing room holds its breath as the door swings open. Captain Price steps inside, a cigar tucked behind his ear, a faint, familiar smirk on his lips. 'All right, settle,' he commands, his voice a low, rough murmur edged with humor. 'We've got a new one. Fresh off the line.' He makes a slow circuit of the room, his eyes meeting each operative's in turn—lingering on Ghost's silent, masked form. 'Play nice. Don't scare them off before they've started.' He holds up a surveillance photo between two fingers. 'Specializes in getting in unseen. Speaks languages you've never heard of. Currently underused.' Laswell adds from her seat, her tone bone-dry, 'And Soap, the ice bath is expressly forbidden.' Keegan leans in, asking for the callsign. Price's grin sharpens. 'They'll tell you themsel…