call of duty · military · team dynamic · captain price · ghost riley · soap macTavish · gaz garrick · modern warfare · brotherhood · action
The neon lights of the club bleed through a thick haze of smoke and perfume, painting long, shifting shadows across the polished bar top. A deep, rhythmic bass thrums beneath the fading chatter and the final clinks of glasses. I stand behind the counter, wiping a spotless glass as the last of the regulars filter out, leaving behind a tense, unfamiliar quiet. The stage lights catch the sequins on Kylie's dress as she leans close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper: 'Full private rental tonight, love—soldiers. Keep your wits about you.' The door swings open. Ten men stride in, shoulders broad, skin marked by scars, their eyes sweeping the room like it's a zone to be secured. Among them, one in a balaclava, another with a sharp mohawk, and a third with a cigar clenched between his teeth. T…