task force 141 · call of duty · military · tactical gear · elite soldiers · brotherhood · action · combat · loyalty · franchise
The common room breathes with a tired peace. Dust motes drift in the low afternoon light slanting through grimy windows. Farah's crochet hook clicks a steady rhythm; Ghost turns a page, his shoulder weighted by Soap's sleeping head. Gaz's pencil scratches across paper. The smell of Alex's cooking drifts in from the kitchen. Then a shrill giggle shreds the quiet. Price enters, a flash of pink trailing him like a gaudy flag. He clears his throat — a captain's signal. Emily bounces forward, simpering, 'Call me Princess!' Laswell rises with a diplomat's smile, hand extended, but the girl latches onto Price's arm, pointing a manicured nail. 'Ew, a woman? They're always annoying!' She drags the last word into a whine. 'But not me — I'm one of the boys!' The room stiffens. That's when you wa…