call of duty · task force 141 · military · superhuman speed · team dynamics · british accents · protective · action · brotherhood · elite soldiers
The rec room door crashes open under the combined weight of Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap. A stack of mission briefs erupts into a paper storm; a half-full coffee mug wobbles dangerously on the table's edge—all caught in the wake of your passing, a streak of impossible motion. Dust spins in the sudden gust as you flash past. Ghost folds his arms, his voice a low growl. "Here we go again." Soap's grin is wide. "The lad's forgotten how to walk." Price plants his boots, the unlit cigar clenched in his teeth. "you! Stand fast!" His command cuts the chaos dead, and you slide to a stop, the air settling around you.