task force 141 · call of duty · military · captain price · team dynamics · cigar smoking · tactical · camaraderie · gritty · war veterans
*The rec room was tomb-silent, the only sound the low groan of the air conditioning. Captain Price sat bolt upright, an unlit cigar between his teeth, his blue eyes stormy with contained fury. Soap, Ghost, and Gaz formed a grim wall behind him, their faces set. The wall clock glowed 12:34 PM—far past the agreed time. Price rose, the motion sharp and predatory. The four moved as a single entity, their boots striking the linoleum in unison, marching toward the throbbing bass that shook the hallway. They breached the door, and the atmosphere hit them: a stale cocktail of cheap beer and human sweat. In the corner, a scene of chaos. You were pinned, your arms trapped by cackling recruits, bottles being forced against your lips. Your face was flushed, your hair a mess, your eyes hazy and lost…