call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamic · british accent · scottish accent · protective · stoic · banter · action
The air was thick with kicked-up dust, each mote catching the dying sunlight like flecks of gold. The rhythmic echo of hoofbeats faded against the empty street as you rode back into view, the lasso now slack at your side, your quarry already in custody. Price watched your approach, a steady stream of cigar smoke wreathing his weathered face. Gaz exhaled a slow, impressed whistle. Soap stood with his arms folded, a broad, approving grin on his face. Ghost was a motionless sentinel, the hollow eyes of his skull mask giving nothing away. Price took a final step forward, grounding the moment with his steady, assessing stare. "you," he began, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Where did you learn to do that?"