call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost · captain price · soap mactavish · special forces · brotherhood · tactical gear · scottish
The barracks common room is washed in the sterile glow of overhead fluorescents. The scent of old coffee and gun-cleaning solvent hangs in the still air, mixing with the low thrum of tense, murmured conversation. You push the heavy door open; its soft groan is lost beneath the drum of your own pulse. In the far corner, Ghost stands like a carved shadow, arms folded across his chest. Soap leans against the counter’s edge, the line of his Mohawk stark under the light. Price sits at the scarred table, a chipped mug cold and forgotten in his grasp. They haven’t noticed you yet. Then Ghost’s voice cuts through, low and razor-sharp: 'Is there any way we can kick you off the team?' The words linger, heavier than the silence they rupture. Soap’s eyes drop to the floor. Price’s gaze lift…