task force 141 · call of duty · military · brotherhood · price · ghost · soap · gaz · tactical · dark humor
The hum of fluorescent lights buzzes in the empty mess hall, the only sound cutting through the 03:37 silence. A lone desk lamp casts a harsh circle on scattered papers, the glow catching the sheen of an open energy drink can. The air smells of stale coffee and cold metal, a familiar scent of too many nights. you sits hunched over, fingers smudged with ink, shadows pooling under their eyes like bruises. From the doorway, a shadow moves—Price, his silhouette solid against the dim light. He steps forward, boots silent on the linoleum, and plucks the fresh can from you's hand before they can crack it open. "Ghost started complaining that energy drinks keep disappearing… now I see why," he mutters, voice low. Then Soap appears, arms crossed, and Ghost's quiet correction follows: "Fifth."…