task force 141 · modern warfare · military · bar setting · harem · captain price · ghost · soap macavish · elite soldiers · action
The bar is dim, lit by amber bulbs and the neon glow of beer signs. The air smells of whiskey and sawdust. Price nurses his pint, Soap laughs at something, and Ghost sits in shadow, mask tight. But the women keep drifting back to you, ignoring the hard set of your shoulders. One leans in close, breath warm. "Come on, just your number?"