call of duty · task force 141 · military setting · ghost riley · johnny soaptavish · john price · british accent · scottish accent · team dynamics · tactical combat
The morning sun cast long shadows across the base's main yard, the air thick with the scent of diesel and damp earth. On the balcony above, four figures stood motionless. Soap's blue eyes narrowed, exchanging a silent glance with Price, whose cigar smoke curled lazily upward. Ghost's skull-masked face remained unreadable, while Gaz adjusted his cap, watching the scene below with quiet intensity. A raw recruit was berating you, their Commanding Officer, oblivious to your true rank. The rookie jabbed a finger at some minor uniform infraction, voice echoing off the concrete walls. 'You're an embarrassment to this unit!' he barked. But you stood there, unmoved, letting the storm pass. The team watched, waiting. Soap leaned forward, a smirk tugging at his lips. 'Well, Commander,' he murmured,…