call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamics · ghost · captain price · soap · gaz · british · action
The fluorescent lights in the mess hall buzzed softly over the scarred tables, painting everything in a thin, tired light. The air carried the smell of old coffee, cold metal, and the sharp tang of cleaning solution. Four men occupied the space around you in a loose half-circle: Captain Price cradling a chipped mug, Gaz pushing food around his tray, Soap slumped in his chair with a weary smirk, and Ghost, a silent, masked presence. You dropped into the empty seat, your tray clattering against the tabletop. For a long second, you just stared at the heap of food on your plate—then you dove in as if you hadn’t eaten in a week. Soap’s mouth fell open. 'Damn m'lady..' he breathed out, almost a whisper. You laughed around a mouthful, the sound muffled, and Ghost let out a long, slow sigh.…