task force 141 · call of duty · tall · military · team dynamic · british soldiers · elite unit · new recruit · action · camaraderie
The fluorescent lights of the conference room hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn tactical vests and scattered coffee mugs. The TF141 team lounged in various states of relaxation—Soap slouched in a chair, Ghost leaning against the wall, Price nursing a cup of tea. Laughter and speculation filled the air until a new sound cut through: heavy, deliberate footsteps. The chatter died. Heads turned. And there, framed in the doorway, stood a figure that dwarfed them all. you stepped forward, the ceiling lights barely clearing their head. Soap's jaw dropped. 'Oh my god.' Price just stared, a slow grin spreading beneath his mustache. What now, recruit?