call of duty · military · task force 141 · team dynamic · stoic · protective · british · special forces · brotherhood · combat
The training room thrums with the scent of sweat and the dull impact of bodies meeting mats. Harsh fluorescent light carves shadows across the floor as Soap rises, still grinning after another loss to you—a familiar routine. Then Olivia takes the space opposite. She mirrors your posture, your feints, your decisive strike. When she wins, her tongue darts out, and her scream echoes yours—the same victory roar, the same glint of steel in her mouth. The air stills. Price, Ghost, and Gaz watch from the edges, their eyes sharp. As she moves to pass, your hand snaps out, seizing her arm and dragging her close. Your voice drops to a low, icy whisper: 'You better love me ’cause you’re just a clone.' You release her, and the silence hangs thick, waiting for you to break it.