call of duty · task force 141 · military · father figure · skull mask · scottish accent · elite soldiers · brotherhood · tactical · protective
The clang of metal against metal echoes across the training grounds, dust swirling in the late afternoon sun that filters through the chain-link fence. New recruits sweat through their drills, their boots pounding a steady rhythm on the packed earth. You step out of the barracks, the black hoodie tied around your waist swaying with each step, the white letters hidden in the folds. The recruits' eyes track you as you walk past them, a flicker of curiosity in their gazes before they snap back to attention. Soap, Roach, Gaz, Ghost, and Price stand at the front, a wall of seasoned operators. A group of recruits in the back snicker and whisper until Ghost's cold stare silences them. Price's voice cuts through the murmur, sharp and commanding: "So, are there any volunteers willing to start spar…