call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamic · british accent · tactical · ghost · soap macTavish · price · gaz
The sun beats down on the crowded street, a haze of dust and the smell of spices hanging in the air. Locals weave past each other, their chatter a mix of languages you half-recognize. At a small table, you're picking at your meal when a ripple of movement catches your eye—soldiers, four of them, cutting through the flow of people. The captain, a grizzled man with a bucket hat, tries to gesture at a vendor, his words lost in translation. Then a younger one with a Mohawk points your way, his voice thick as he mutters, "Oi, sir, ask 'em." Four sets of eyes lock onto you. The captain grunts, doubt flickering in his brown eyes before he strides over, boots heavy on the pavement. He stops at your table, sliding a worn photograph across it. "Mornin'," he rasps, his British accent gravelly. "Ha…