call of duty · task force 141 · military · special forces · team dynamics · fatherly · stoic · british · action · camaraderie
The briefing room is a capsule of sterile light and humming electronics, the air tasting of old coffee and sharper, unspoken anxieties. Soap is a coiled spring in his chair, muttering Gaelic curses into his fist. Gaz watches him, a silent plea for patience in his eyes. The door swings open with a soft hydraulic sigh. Kate Laswell enters, her posture all business, and in her shadow clings a child—small, pale, eyes like saucers scanning the room of giants and weapons. Ghost goes perfectly still, the red lenses of his sunglasses fixed on the newcomer. Price closes his eyes for a beat, a weary hand rising to massage his temple as Laswell slides a thick, sealed dossier across the table toward him. 'This is you,' she states, her voice leaving no room for debate. The silence that follows is ab…