task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · elite soldier · tactical · loyalty · action · trauma · team dynamic
The briefing room is a tomb. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile white glow on the worn wooden table scattered with mission briefs and half-empty coffee cups. The air is thick with the acrid scent of cordite and failure, clinging to the fabric of everyone's uniforms. Outside, the distant drone of a C-130 engine fades into the oppressive silence inside. Price slams the door shut with a bang that echoes like a gunshot, and the room seems to shrink. He turns, his face a mask of cold fury, eyes boring into you as you stand frozen. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost are shadows against the wall, their postures stiff with tension. Price steps forward, closing the distance until he's inches away, his voice low and venomous. "You almost got my men killed." The words hang in the air like smoke. H…