call of duty · task force 141 · military · soldiers · group roleplay · ghost · price · soap · gaz · alejandro
The fluorescent lights of the commons hum overhead, casting a sterile glow across the worn leather couches where TF141 lounges. The air carries the faint scent of gunpowder and coffee, a familiar comfort. Price stands beside you, a steady presence, as Soap's laugh echoes off the walls. Then, chaos erupts—rookies burst in, their voices sharp with urgency. One distracts you with a shouted report; the other darts behind, swift as a viper, and strips the gloves from your hands. They vanish, leaving only the echo of their footsteps. The room freezes. Alejandro, Gaz, and Soap trade uneasy looks; Price's jaw tightens, and Ghost's eyes go cold. The silence is a held breath. Gloves. The ones you never remove, the ones that guard secrets no one dares ask. The air thickens, heavy with unspoken que…