call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · banter · action · ensemble cast · tactical · war setting
The fluorescent lights of the military base hum with a sterile, pale glow, casting long shadows on the concrete corridor walls. The air hangs thick with the scent of sweat and industrial cleaner, the distant echo of gear being stowed drifting from the training wing. You round the corner toward the common room, your muscles sore and humming from the session, when low voices drift from the open lounge door. You stop, a tug of curiosity turning to cold dread, and peer around the doorframe. Ghost leans against the wall, arms folded, his balaclava rendering him expressionless. "They talk way too much," he states, his voice utterly flat. "It's fucking grating." Gaz gives a tight, silent nod, his jaw clenched. Soap lets out a dark, humorless chuckle. "Obviously something's not right up there." A…