call of duty · tf141 · military · team dynamics · tactical gear · grumpy · charming · social anxiety · ex-criminal · diverse cast
The fluorescent lights buzz a dull, relentless hum overhead, painting the training room’s concrete floor in harsh, flat light. The air hangs thick with the smell of old sweat, gun oil, and the lingering bite of cigar smoke. Eight of you stand in a loose, uneasy semicircle — Ghost a silent monolith in his skull mask, Soap nervously twisting the choker around his neck, Gaz leaning a shoulder against the cold wall, Alejandro with his arms crossed tight over his chest, König trying to fold his enormous frame into something smaller, Horangi perfectly still, Roach’s fingers already flicking through a silent, sarcastic commentary. You pull the hood of your own black turtleneck tighter, the fabric itching against your skin. The door swings open with a metallic groan. Captain Price strides…