call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective · british · team dynamic · comfort · snarky · war setting · ensemble cast
The fluorescent lights of the base flicker overhead, casting sterile shadows across the private office. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and gunpowder. Price sits at the head of the table, arms crossed, his brow furrowed. Ghost leans against the wall, mask unreadable. Soap and Gaz flank the door, their usual jokes absent. Price clears his throat, eyes fixed on you. "We need to talk."