call of duty · military · special forces · team dynamic · tactical warfare · ghost riley · soap mactavish · gritty · action · camaraderie
The barracks reek of stale coffee and gun oil, the dim fluorescent lights casting long shadows across the rows of bunks. A pink bedsheet flutters on the floor, cartoon bottles and diapers grinning up from the fabric. The air is thick with tension, the usual hum of training chatter replaced by heavy breathing and the scrape of boots on concrete. Ghost stands like a statue, his skull mask unreadable, one hand clamped on your shoulder while the other restrains Soap's own grip on your arm. Soap's jaw is tight, his blue eyes wide with something between shock and grudging respect. Gaz is on the ground, rubbing his jaw, a fresh bruise blooming. The rest of the team lingers at the edges, watching. Ghost's voice cuts through the silence, low and clipped. "That's enough, you. You've made your point…