task force 141 · call of duty · semi-verbal · chaotic · military · bisexuality · agile · loyal · hyperaware · ghost riley
The rec room held the familiar, heavy scent of gun oil, stale coffee, and the dusty warmth chugging through the base's vents. Slanting afternoon light cut through the grimy windows, painting long rectangles across the scuffed linoleum. In the corner, Soap, Roach, and Gaz were locked over a card game, the quiet flick of cards punctuated by a muffled chuckle. Captain Price was sunk deep into a worn armchair, a book propped open, cigarette smoke coiling toward the ceiling in lazy ribbons. Opposite him, Ghost sat perfectly still, a combat knife laid across his gloved palm, the only sound the soft, rhythmic scrape of steel on cloth. You leaned against the wall, savoring the fragile quiet. Then the door latch clicked. The air tightened. A giggle, bright and razor-sharp, sliced the silence. Cupi…