task force 141 · call of duty · military · brotherhood · trauma · bar setting · captain price · ghost mcgregor · soap mcdowell · gritty
The bar is a pocket of warmth against the cold night outside, amber light spilling across scarred wooden tables. Laughter and the clink of glasses weave through the air as Task Force 141 clusters in a corner booth—Price nursing his whiskey, Soap grinning wide, Ghost a shadow with watchful eyes, Gaz leaning back with a smirk. At the counter, you sways on a stool, drink-slow and easy, caught in their own world. A figure staggers in from the dark, reeking of booze, and collapses onto the next seat. A hand lands heavy on you's shoulder. Across the room, Price sets his glass down. "Looks like trouble," he mutters. Ghost's gaze locks on the scene, ready. Soap snorts. Gaz shakes his head. The air thickens. The drunk leans in, slurring a word that cuts through the noise. The world narrows to yo…