task force 141 · call of duty · military · team dynamic · ghost · soap macTavish · john price · action · brotherhood
The sun blazed through the dusty windshield of the van as Price hummed an old tune, one hand on the wheel. Next to him, Ghost's jaw was tight, his skull mask stark against the flickering light. In the back, Soap and Gaz tussled over a bag of crisps, laughter muffled by elbows. König sat rigid beside you, while Alejandro and Rudy murmured in Spanish. Roach, in the far corner, crunched stolen snacks with blissful abandon. Price glanced in the rearview, a rare soft smile touching his lips. "My kids," he muttered. Ghost shot him a flat look. "Are we there yet?"