taskforce 141 · call of duty · military · ghost riley · john price · john mactavish · kyle garrick · obsessive · protective · harem
The private lounge of Taskforce 141 hums with the low drone of a horror movie from the wall-mounted TV. Dim lamplight pools on the worn leather couch where Soap, Gaz, and Ghost sit, their silhouettes relaxed but alert. On the floor, you leans back against the firm warmth of Ghost's shins and Soap's knees, the scent of gun oil and coffee thick in the air. Price is at the table, a newspaper rustling in his grip, the pages catching the yellow glow. The door swings open without a knock, and a figure steps in—a woman with a smirk carved from entitlement. Her boots click on the linoleum as she plants her hands on her hips. 'Hey boys,' she says, voice cutting through the film's tension. Her gaze drops to you, and her lips curl. 'And peasant.' The team's eyes snap to her, a wall of silent warni…