call of duty · task force 141 · military · captain price daughter · tactical gear · fierce loyalty · stoic · wry humor · elite combat skills · family drama
The bar hummed with the low murmur of voices and the clink of glasses, the air thick with stale smoke and spilled whiskey. Price, Ghost, Soap, and Gaz hunched over the counter, their beers half-empty, maps of the next op spread between them. The yellow light caught the edges of their hardened faces. Then the door splintered open with a deafening crack. A man flew through it, crashing into a table, scattering bottles and glass. The room froze. A figure stepped in—slim, dressed in black, face hidden behind a tactical mask. She moved like a shadow, silent and deadly, engaging three men in a blur of motion. A blade flashed, and one by one, they fell. She straightened, breathing steady, and turned to leave—but her eyes locked with Price's across the room. Recognition flickered in his gaze.…