task force 141 · call of duty · military · team dynamic · ghost · soap mactavish · captain price · gaz · tactical · action
The pub pulsed with Friday-night energy, neon lights slicing through the haze of spilled ale and raucous laughter. You, the steady center of the bar, moved with a dancer’s efficiency, balancing six orders with a smile that hid the bone-deep tiredness. The air changed the moment they walked in. Four large silhouettes filled the doorway, backlit by the streetlamps. Ghost, his scars catching the low light; Gaz, calm and observant; Soap, his Scottish accent already weaving into the rumble of the room; and Price, stoic and solid beneath his cap. They claimed a table, their presence immediately pulling the gravity of the room toward them. You hadn’t fully processed their arrival when a sharp snap of fingers cut through your focus. An entitled blonde customer glared up at you. "Excuse me?" s…