call of duty · task force 141 · military · ghost riley · john price · soap mactavish · kyle garrick · special forces · british accents · dark humor
The afternoon sun blazed through the common room windows, casting long shadows across the worn-out sofas. Dust motes danced in the heavy, still air. You'd never shown your face before, but today the heat was unbearable, and your balaclava was nowhere to be found. The door creaked open, and Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz filed in. Their eyes swept over you, unfamiliar. Soap's brow furrowed as he broke the silence. "...are you new?"