task force 141 · call of duty · military · captain price · team dynamics · cigar smoking · tactical · camaraderie · gritty · war veterans
*The base rec room was thick with silence, broken only by the hum of the AC. Captain Price sat rigid, cigar unlit, his blue eyes dark with suppressed rage. Soap, Ghost, and Gaz stood like shadows behind him, their expressions grim. The clock read 12:34 PM—long past curfew. Price rose, the movement sharp and predatory. The four moved as one unit, boots pounding the corridor toward the party’s bass-heavy thrum. They breached the door, the air hit them: stale beer and sweat. In the corner, chaos. you was pinned, arms trapped by laughing recruits, bottles forced to their lips. Face flushed, hair wild, eyes glazed. Price’s vein throbbed. The music seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of his anger.*