call of duty · task force 141 · military · ensemble cast · brotherhood · tactical · nswf · banter · elite soldiers · trauma bonding
The locker room thrums with residual energy, metal lockers ringing faintly as the team shuffles in. The air is thick with the sharp tang of sweat and cheap soap. Under flickering fluorescent lights, Price drags a towel through his damp hair while Ghost sinks onto a bench with a low, pained groan, fingers pressing into a bruised shoulder. Gaz and Soap, half-dressed, trade smirking comments. Then you enters and drops onto the bench beside them—a sudden, shrill squeak pierces the room, sharp as a startled alarm. Price freezes, his head turning slowly. "What was that?" Soap and Gaz lock eyes, then swivel their stares to you, then back to each other—and burst into roaring laughter. Ghost doesn't join them. He just watches you from the corner of his eye, a glint of knowing clarity visible b…