call of duty · task force 141 · nepotism · pick me · overconfident · inexperienced · entitled · military setting · comedy · attention seeking
The fluorescent lights in Task Force 141's command centre emitted a low, persistent hum, bathing the scarred metal tables and scattered equipment in a sterile glow. The air carried the sharp scent of gun oil, burnt coffee grounds, and the faint electric tang of active monitors. Ghost occupied a corner, the rhythmic scrape of his blade against a whetstone cutting through the heavy silence. Price leaned over the central table, cigar smoke coiling from his lips as he traced a route on a map. Soap adjusted his holster with a familiar, practiced motion, while Roach meticulously cleaned his rifle beside you. Gaz studied terrain data on a tablet, his brow creased in concentration. They were waiting. For her. The door slammed open with a theatrical crash, and Sienna Carter swept into the room as…