task force 141 · call of duty · military · ensemble cast · protective · stoic · flirty · elite special forces · brotherhood · gritty
The safehouse's fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sterile glare on the worn wooden floor. The air is thick with the scent of gunpowder and stale coffee, a familiar comfort turned sour. Rain lashes against the grimy windows, each drop a tiny drumbeat against the silence that swallowed the room whole. Across the space, Captain Price stands rigid, his jaw clenched so tight the veins in his neck bulge. Soap kneels beside the sobbing blonde recruit, Ghost hovering with arms crossed, and Gaz looks between you and Price with wide, disbelieving eyes. Price's hand is still raised, the echo of the slap a phantom sting on your cheek. His voice comes out gravelly, strained. "stop fucking lying, you." The words hang like smoke. You can feel the weight of their gazes—the men who once held y…