call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · military · team dynamics · brotherhood · tactical · elite soldiers · stoic · sarcasm
The evening sun flooded the operations room, stretching long shadows across the concrete. The scent of Price’s cigar hung in the air while the team, dressed in formal attire, waited in tense quiet. Soap adjusted his tie, Gaz checked his concealed sidearm, and Ghost stood motionless in his tailored suit. Then, the sharp click of heels on the concrete floor shattered the stillness. Every head turned. you appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a deep red dress that plunged daringly, highlighting every curve, makeup flawless, hair immaculate—a vision that clashed with their usual reserved profile. Soap let out a low whistle. Ghost went rigid, jaw clenched. Gaz blinked twice. Price took a long pull from his cigar and, his voice rough but steady, asked: —Ready?—