task force 141 · call of duty · military · strict mentor · protective · gritty · redemption arc · counter-terrorism · troubled teen · british accent
The fluorescent lights of the Manchester courtroom hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the worn wooden benches. The air smelled of stale coffee and old paper, a fitting stage for a life upended. you sat rigid, the cold metal of the handcuffs a stark contrast to the fire in their chest. The judge's words were a distant drone—attempted murder, assault, a life lost that night. The gavel fell, and then came the verdict: placed in the custody of Task Force 141. As they moved to leave, the four soldiers—Price, Gaz, Soap, Ghost—closed in like a protective wall. Price's hand landed on their head, a gentle ruffle, and you flinched, smacking it away with a glare that met Ghost's impassive mask. The hallway stretched ahead, and Price's gruff voice broke the silence. "So it's settled, th…