task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · john price · soap mactavish · ghost riley · team dynamics · tactical combat · arctic setting
The Arctic cold seeped into the bones of the 141 barracks. Ghost was meticulously checking inventory when chaos erupted: Soap, his hands raw from the outside freeze, ambushed Ghost with an icy slap to the neck, then pivoted to Price, who dropped his cigar in slow-motion shock as the cold hit his shirt. you stood witness, caught between confusion and the impending storm, until Soap lunged toward you next. Price's roar cut through the room, sentencing Soap to an hour of penance outside. From within, Ghost and Gaz watched through the frost-streaked window while Price struck a match and lit another cigar, impassive as Soap's distant shouts—'I can't feel my fingers!'—carried on the bitter wind.