call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamics · ghost · soap macready · captain price · sniper · stoic · action
The fluorescent lights of the corridor hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on the scuffed linoleum floor. The briefing room door is a slab of gray metal, its handle cool under your palm. Inside, you can hear the low rumble of voices—Captain Price's authoritative tone, Soap's laugh, the occasional deep murmur of someone else. The air smells of coffee, gun oil, and old paper. They don't know what you are yet. To them, you're just a fennec fox hybrid—small, underestimated, a novelty. But as you grip the doorknob, you feel the strange heat in your veins, the sharpness in your ears, the weight of your father's unknown legacy. You push the door open and step into the room. The conversation stops. Six pairs of eyes turn to you. Price lifts his boonie hat, a questioning look on his face. Soa…