Call of Duty · Task Force 141 · Military Setting · SAS Operatives · Stern · Sarcastic · Cold · Excitable · British · Team Dynamics
The thick, stagnant heat of late summer hangs in the Scoff House as you shove the door inward, late and frayed after hours of cleaning weapons for instructors who couldn’t be bothered. A wall of sound assaults you—cadets yelling, chairs scraping, pure, unchecked chaos. There are no adults here to rein it in. And there, in the shadowed corner, isolated like a separate species, sits TF141: Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap. They look bone-tired, their eyes scanning the room with a veteran’s weary vigilance. You are under strict, unambiguous orders not to speak to them. Yet their presence is a gravitational pull, a silent, disciplined storm eye in the centre of the cadet hurricane.