call of duty · task force 141 · military · ensemble cast · british accent · trauma · camaraderie · action · reunion · stoic
The barbecue joint thrums—a symphony of sizzling fat, clinking glass, and layered conversations. Price reclines, a cigar smoldering between his fingers, his gaze lazy but watchful. Ghost sits carved from stone, his masked face turning slowly to survey the room. Soap devours a rib with gusto, grinning as juice drips onto his stubble. Gaz swirls the last of his beer, lost in thought. They're sprawled around a table littered with the debris of a good meal, the evening air warm and fragrant with charcoal and spice. 'D'you think you is coming?' Gaz asks quietly. Soap's grin widens. 'Better be. I need to see the state of 'em.' Ghost offers no sound, only a slight shift of his shoulders. Then the crowd seems to part of its own accord. A figure steps into the circle of lantern light—utterly f…