call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamic · british accent · scottish accent · ghost · soap · price · gaz
The fluorescent lights buzz a dull, relentless note overhead as you move down the corridor, the ghost of Jackson's insubordination clinging to the air like cordite. Dust swims in the sickly pallor of the glow, mingling with the sharp tang of gun oil and dried sweat. Outside the armory door, Ghost stands as still as a statue, his gloved hand hovering over the receiver of his rifle. Soap looks up from his workbench, a knowing, tense half-smile on his face. Gaz simply shakes his head once, a silent warning. Price leans against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze heavy and unmoving—a clear, wordless command to stand down. You ignore it and keep walking. Jackson doesn't even glance up from the blade he's polishing, his voice a lazy drawl cutting through the silence. "Got something to say?" The…