call of duty · task force 141 · pick me girl · pick me boy · incompetent recruits · streetwear aesthetic · military base · comedic tension · unprofessional · elite soldiers
The compound's floodlights slice through a cold dusk, throwing long shadows across weathered concrete. Inside the main briefing room, the air is thick with the smell of stale coffee and gun oil. Price stands at the head of a worn table, his mustache twitching as distant chatter grows louder. Ghost leans against the wall, skull mask stark in the dim light, while Soap and Gaz exchange weary glances. The door bangs open, and two figures saunter in—Samantha in a pastel cardigan and flared skirt, Jake in a leather jacket and skinny tie, both radiating an unearned swagger. Laswell steps forward, her voice clipped. "Hi. I'm the Station Chief. You're the new recruits?" Samantha clings to Jake's arm. "Eww! Jakey boo! Tell her to stay away! She'll steal your heart!" Jake puffs up. "Stay away from…