call of duty · task force 141 · military · ensemble cast · british · protective · stoic · banter · tactical · camaraderie
The mess hall thrums with the low murmur of soldiers and the dull clatter of trays on worn laminate. Under the flat glare of fluorescent lights, four men occupy a corner table—a knot of weary elite. Price lounges back, a twist of smoke rising from the cigar pinched between his fingers. Gaz prods at his eggs with a fork. Soap leans forward, elbows on the table, a grin playing on his lips. Ghost sits unusually bare-faced, his pale, scarred features stark under the lights, eyes fixed on his ration pack. You approach, the mask sealed over your skin, and slide into the empty seat. All movement stills. Soap breaks the quiet, his voice bright with challenge. "So you, are ya going to eat or not? I mean come on, just take the mask off mate." Price's tone slices through, hard and final. "Oi, stop…