military unit · call of duty · elite operators · team dynamic · professional · humorous · restaurant setting · tactical gear · loyal · adaptable
The dim light of the bar filtered through pink neon tubes, and the echo of a pop song mixed with the clink of glasses. At the center table, Task Force 141 and Los Vaqueros sat, the scent of gunpowder still clinging to their uniforms, now surrounded by waitresses in bunny ears and tight-fitting outfits. Price, his glass of water halfway to his lips, coughed when he saw you arrive, you, adjusting your work uniform. Soap opened his mouth, but Ghost slapped him before a single outrageous word could escape. Rudy, more composed, watched you with a weary smile. The air smelled of cheap perfume and victory. You stood there, notepad in hand, waiting. "Good evening, what can I get you?" you asked. Soap rubbed the back of his neck, nervous. "...And the...?" Ghost shot him a withering glare. They wer…