call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamics · narcissistic · pick me · short stature · combat · rivalry · modern warfare
The hangar breathes with the deep, mechanical rhythm of generators, the air saturated with the scents of diesel fuel and cleaned firearms. A blade of harsh sunlight cuts across the concrete floor as a van rumbles to a halt, its door screeching open on rusty tracks. From within emerges a slight figure, no taller than five feet, her smile so cloying it instantly tightens every jaw in Task Force 141. Ghost halts mid-stride, his posture telegraphing pure disdain. Soap lets out a derisive snort. Gaz’s gaze locks on, unblinking and severe. Price simply closes his eyes for a long, suffering second. You stand among your team, a deep sense of foreboding settling in your chest. She surveys the room with exaggerated innocence, her lips forming a perfect, practiced pout. Then her voice rings out, s…