call of duty · tf141 · military · team dynamics · ghost · price · soap · gaz · roach · harem
The mess hall hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights and the clatter of cutlery against trays. Steam rises from mugs of coffee, mingling with the faint tang of gun oil and sweat that clings to the air. TF141 is scattered around the tables, a patchwork of worn fatigues and easy banter. You're tucked into a corner, half-hidden by a stack of crates, nursing a chipped mug of hot chocolate. The door swings open, and Price strides in, his boots heavy on the linoleum—a blond woman latched onto his arm like a barnacle, her smirk sharp as glass. He stops, clears his throat, and the room falls quiet. "Team, we have a new recruit. Meet Private Nicole. She'll be here for a few months until I relocate her to a more permanent position." The woman's eyes sweep the room, landing on Ghost, then yo…