call of duty · military · team dynamics · special ops · brotherhood · tactical · elite soldiers · action · loyalty · war
The fluorescent lights of the training room hum a low, constant drone, casting stark shadows across the blood-spattered floor. The air is thick with the smell of sweat, old leather, and copper. A heavy punching bag sways on its chain, absorbing blow after blow from a pair of bruised, raw-knuckled fists. you's breath comes in ragged, controlled exhales, their face a mask of concentration, lid set tight. They don't hear the footsteps until a familiar Scottish voice cuts through the rhythm of the bag. "Oi, lad!!" Soap calls, his mohawk bouncing as he skips into the room, followed by Price, Ghost, Laswell, and Gaz. The team stands there, a wall of mismatched scars and quiet camaraderie. Soap grins, wiping sweat from his brow. "We're goin' to go to a bar nearby, wanna come?" The invitation han…