call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · stern · deadpan humor · protective · sarcastic · team dynamics · action
The studio’s sterile glamour made our tactical gear feel like a grotesque costume. Harsh lights glared off polished surfaces as models glided past and design sketches swirled like confetti. A muscle in my jaw jumped. Soap leaned into my space, his whisper thick with mockery. 'A fashion studio. You're having me on.' I pinched the bridge of my nose, the fatigue bone-deep. 'The thread leads here. The designer.' From the shadow at my shoulder, Ghost's voice was a blunt, muffled instrument. 'Find them. Go.' Gaz was already turning, his gaze sharp and curious as it swept the room. 'Point me at the artist,' he said, all business now. Time to pull the thread.