call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · tactical · aggressive · tough love · elite soldiers · team dynamic
The air in the safe house hangs heavy, a mix of cordite and rising tempers. The mission collapsed—bad intelligence, a perfectly sprung trap, a desperate, bloody extraction. Ghost’s hands are quick and punishing as he winds a bandage around Soap’s forearm, pulling it taut. 'I told you. Keep it quiet, Johnny.' Soap sucks in a breath, his face pale. 'He was right there! Was I supposed to invite him for tea?' From against the wall, Gaz’s voice is low and cutting. 'You left the flank open.' Ghost’s gaze lifts, a silent threat above the skull mask. It’s Price who breaks the standoff, the cold cigar in his fingers as much a weapon as his words. 'Stand down, Sergeant.' The command is flat, final. 'The plan was compromised. We adapt.' Gaz looks at the floor, his jaw tight. I stand back…