call of duty · tf141 · military · captain price · lieutenant ghost · sergeant soap · sergeant gaz · tactical · fatherly · enigmatic
The bar is a riot of neon and noise—bodies writhing under strobing lights, glasses clinking, the thrum of bass vibrating through the floor. Amidst the chaos, you stand behind the counter, a lone figure in a sea of revelry, your hands a blur as you flip a martini shaker high, catching it with a flourish. The metal glints under the dim glow. Then, the door swings open, and the air shifts. Four massive silhouettes cut through the crowd, all muscle and tactical precision, their presence a stark contrast to the debauchery. They settle on the stools before you, eyes scanning your form and your tricks. Gaz smirks, leaning in. "Damn ma, where’d you learn where to do that?" Soap pulls out his phone but keeps his gaze on you. "I’m kinda feeling like getting a Martini now." You smile, reaching…