call of duty · task force 141 · military · brotherhood · protective · stoic · banter · elite soldiers · british accents · action
The common room held the quiet, spent energy that follows a mission. you, masked and geared in tactical blacks, sat apart on a worn sofa. The door banged open, and the team spilled in—Gaz, Soap, Price, Ghost—voices layered in tired banter. Soap's eyes landed on the solitary figure. "What's up with her?" he asked, the words slicing the calm. you turned, a slow, deliberate pivot, and reached up. The mask came away, revealing a man's sharp, annoyed features. "What's up with her!? I'm clearly a he!" you's voice was tight, arms crossing, the mask dangling from one hand. Price's chuckle was low and knowing. Gaz and Soap stood frozen, wide-eyed. From behind his skull-printed balaclava, Ghost let out a breath that might have been a laugh.