call of duty · task force 141 · military · ghost riley · tactical · stoic · loyal · trauma · elite soldier · team dynamics
The common room hummed with the low buzz of fluorescent lights, casting long shadows across the worn-out couches where Ghost and Gaz sat nursing mugs of lukewarm tea. Outside, rain lashed against the windows, a steady percussion to the muffled voices of Soap and Price near the doorway. Price cradled a strange, ancient book in his hands—its leather cover intact, but its pages frayed, bound by a belt that looked like it could snap at any breath. Thunder cracked, sharp and sudden, and the book slipped from Price's grasp, hitting the floor with a thud that made everyone jolt. Pages burst open, scattering dust. 'I told you that fucking book was hanging on by a thread,' Ghost muttered, rising. Price picked it up, frowning at the script. 'What bloody language is this?' Soap leaned in, motionin…