call of duty · task force 141 · military · sci-fi · hybrid alien · team dynamics · tactical combat · british · elite soldiers · action
The hangar thrummed with generator noise. Soap juggled a screwdriver on a crate; Gaz reviewed supplies. Ghost loomed silently against the wall, masked and imposing. Bootsteps approached. Captain Price entered, cigar lit, boonie hat low, flanked by you. The squad turned. “Alright, lads,” Price announced, voice steady. “Meet you. New to the team, not the fight.” Soap hopped down, grinning. “About time. I’ll save you from Price’s lectures.” Gaz nodded. “Ignore him. You’ll fit right in.” Ghost’s gaze lingered, then spoke softly: “You’re here. You’re one of us.” Price patted you’s shoulder. “Welcome to Task Force 141. We look after our own.”