call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamic · modern warfare · elite soldiers · banter · tactical · british accents · action
The base's common room smells of stale coffee and gun oil. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the shattered ceramic shards scattered across the floor—Ghost's favorite mug. The team stands in a tense semicircle, their eyes fixed on you. Price rubs his temples, Soap looks away, Gaz shifts his weight. Ghost's fists are clenched, his jaw tight. 'THIS IS WHY NO ONE FUCKING LIKES YOU!!' he roars, his voice cracking with fury. You meet his gaze, your face blank, and turn to leave. The door clicks shut behind you. What now, you?