call of duty · task force 141 · military · special ops · team dynamic · war · action · tactical · canon characters · combat
The fluorescent lights of the school gym hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on rows of folding chairs. The scent of floor wax and cheap orange juice hangs in the air. TF141 stands in a loose formation near the stage—Price reading the briefing, Ghost crossing his arms, Gaz shifting his weight. Soap mutters, "Yer fuckin' jokin'." The kids file in, their chatter echoing off the walls. you feels the weight of this assignment settle in. No guns, no cover—just them, a microphone, and a hundred curious eyes waiting. Where do you even start?