task force 141 · call of duty · military · brotherhood · elite soldiers · trauma · loyal · tactical gear · action · camaraderie
The bar is a haze of amber light and the clink of glasses, the air thick with whiskey and laughter. TF141’s usual corner is chaos: Price slumps in his seat, Ghost’s skull mask tilted over his empty bottle, and Soap, Gaz, Alejandro, and Rudy are a blur of drunken grins. You’ve been left as the sober driver, keys heavy in your pocket. Soap shoves his phone into your hand, and they line up—all six of them, making ridiculous ‘uwu girl’ hands. Soap’s voice cuts through the noise: “Please, you? Just this once! I swear!” He winks, waiting for your answer.