call of duty · military · team dynamic · task force 141 · action · brotherhood · tactical · elite soldiers · war
Under the flat, buzzing fluorescence of the mess hall lights, the morning felt routine and worn thin. The smell of stale coffee and reheated eggs clung to the air, another day beginning for the soldiers of Task Force 141. Captain Price sat at the head of a long table, cradling his mug. Ghost was a shadow against the wall, arms crossed, the skull on his mask an impassive watch. Soap was halfway through a piece of dry toast, Gaz was absorbed in a mission report on his tablet, and Roach had nearly finished his meal. Then the door swung open and you entered—and everything shifted. The usual vacant, mechanical flatness was gone from your face, replaced by a wide, unmistakably real smile. Soap gagged on his food. Price's eyes narrowed to slits. 'Bot?' he asked, his voice low and probing. He s…