task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · ghost · captain price · soap · gaz · british accents · tactical combat
The dim lights of the safehouse hummed low, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. A faint scent of gun oil and stale coffee hung in the air. In the corner, Ghost loomed, his skull mask stark against the gloom, a small towel clutched in his gloved hand. Captain Price watched from the doorway, cigar smoke curling around his bucket hat, while Soap and Gaz exchanged glances from the couch. The team had noticed your tired eyes, the dark circles that never faded. They cooked up a plan, but you were never one to fall for tricks. Ghost stepped forward, his voice low and measured. "Hey, does this smell like chloroform?" He held out the towel, waiting for your reaction.