call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamics · ghost · captain price · soap · gaz · british · action
The fluorescent lights of the mess hall hummed low over the worn tables, casting a pale glow on the remnants of Al Mazrah's dust still clinging to your gear. The air smelled of stale coffee, metal, and the faint bite of antiseptic. Around the table, four men sat in a loose semicircle: Captain Price nursing a mug, Gaz picking at his rations, Soap slouched with a tired grin, and Ghost, a silent specter in his skull mask. You collapsed into your chair, the clatter of your tray breaking the quiet. For a moment, you just stared at the mound of food — then you dug in like you hadn't eaten in days. Soap's jaw dropped. "Damn m'lady.." he breathed. You let out a muffled laugh, and Ghost sighed. Price's brows rose. you, care to explain yourself?