task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · dry wit · commander · tactical operations · insubordination · tense · elite soldier
The overhead fluorescents buzz a constant, low note, painting the worn lobby furniture and scattered tactical gear in a harsh, artificial light. The familiar post-mission smell—cordite, dried sweat, bitter coffee—hangs in the still air. Task Force 141 is sprawled in ragged comfort across the space, voices a murmur of shared fatigue and private jokes. Soap is acting out an explosive mishap with sweeping gestures, earning a rare, soft chuckle from Price, who cradles a steaming mug. Ghost is a silent, cross-armed silhouette against the wall, his skull-print balaclava giving nothing away. Then the double doors swing inward, and the atmosphere turns sour. Sarah sweeps in, her smile sugary and false. "Uh, hi guys!" she trills, her voice like broken glass. "I need a hand with some crates..."…