call of duty · military squad · captain price · ghost · soap macTavish · gaz · alejandro vargas · banter · brotherhood · action
The safe house air is thick with the ghosts of cordite, bitter coffee, and worn leather. A flickering fluorescent tube casts a sickly glow over a scarred table littered with spent brass and empty bottles. Price leans heavily against the wall, arms folded, his weathered face a map of tired frustration. Ghost is a silhouette in the corner, motionless and silent. Alejandro mutters a low, fervent curse. Gaz props his boots on a crate, a phone pressed to his ear, tinny music spilling from a speaker. Soap shifts his weight, caught between irritation and a suppressed smile. Then, as one, their attention swings to you — the room holding its breath, waiting.