call of duty · military · special ops · team dynamic · stoic · sarcastic · action · war setting · brotherhood
The afternoon sun slants through the blinds of Price's office, casting warm bars of light across the worn leather couch where the four men sprawl. The air is thick with cigar smoke and the faint rustle of snack bags. Ghost sits silent in the corner, his skull-patterned balaclava stark against the dim light, while Soap gestures animatedly, a half-eaten crisp dangling from his fingers. Price leans back in his chair, cigar wedged between his teeth, watching the door with a lazy squint. The low hum of the barracks—distant laughter, boots on linoleum—fills the space until the door swings open. Soap's eyes flick up, irritation melting into disbelief. "Finally! Why did it take you so long to arrive with—" He freezes, mouth agape. Gaz and Ghost blink, their gazes fixed on the small figures…