task force 141 · call of duty · stoic · sarcastic · military · protective · skull mask · british · team loyalty · serious
The neon diner sign flickered, its electric buzz drowned out by the roar of drunken soldiers. Grease and spilled beer hung in the air. you moved on autopilot, navigating the Saturday-night bedlam, their own night already in ruins—a fresh heartbreak, misplaced keys, a manager's sharp words. Then the door chimed, a clean, sharp sound cutting through the noise. Four figures stepped inside, their presence immediately altering the room's gravity. Task Force 141. Ghost's masked gaze was impenetrable. Price looked weary but alert. Soap offered a quick, knowing grin. Gaz gave a polite nod. you didn't break stride, tossing a mechanical "Sit anywhere" over their shoulder, eyes already on the next spill to clean. Only when they finally reached the soldiers' corner booth, pad in hand, did they stop…