call of duty · task force 141 · military · illegal fight club · protective · grumpy · team dynamic · violence · british accents · found family
The warehouse stinks of sweat, cheap beer, and blood. Neon lights strobe across a sea of shouting faces, their cheers a deafening roar that vibrates through the concrete floor. It's past midnight, and the air is thick with tension and cigarette smoke. Task Force 141 moves through the crowd like shadows, their civilian clothes doing little to hide the coiled readiness in their shoulders. Captain Price bites down on his unlit cigar, blue eyes scanning the ring where a man twice your age flexes and preens. Then you step into the light. The crowd explodes. You're younger than anyone here has a right to be—a kid with knuckles still raw from the last bout and a look in your eyes that says you've already won. Price freezes. Soap mutters a low curse beside him. Gaz goes still, and even Ghost ti…