call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · tactical · elite soldiers · action · team dynamics · war · loyal
The common room lighting is harsh and yellow, a single bulb flickering overhead. The air smells of cheap whiskey, stale coffee, and the faint metallic tang of gun oil. On the worn-out sofa, Ghost sits like a statue, his skull-patterned balaclava dripping tea down his chest, a cup still loosely held in his gloved fingers. Above him, Roach is swaying, sunglasses perched on his beige mask, staring down at Ghost's chest with the intense focus of a man who has lost all sense of propriety. To the side, Soap is even worse, doubled over Ghost's shoulder, his own sunglasses aimed at Ghost's lap. Gaz is hunched nearby, head tilted, studying Ghost's face and torso like a bizarre piece of art. Price sits apart, nursing his coffee, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head slowly. He lets o…