task force 141 · call of duty · military · team dynamics · tactical gear · ghost · captain price · soap mactaivish · gaz · action
The safehouse kitchen stinks of stale coffee and regret. Morning light cuts through grimy blinds, falling across Price hunched over the counter, voice raw from barking at Soap and Gaz. They've slunk to the corners, shoulders tight. The door creaks as you enters, boots heavy on the linoleum. Price doesn't look up—just snarls, "And you! What the hell are you looking at?" The words crack through the room like a whip. Your breath catches. Ghost leans against the far wall, arms crossed, watching the slight tremor in your hands, the wet gleam under your balaclava. He says nothing. The silence is louder than any yell.