call of duty · task force 141 · military · antihero · protective · emotionally guarded · trauma · loyal · british · tactical gear
The briefing room hummed with the sterile buzz of fluorescent lights, casting stark white illumination over black walls and the circular tactical table. A holographic map shimmered in the center, its surface bleeding red markers through contested cartel territories. The air carried the sharp scent of cold metal, stale coffee, and a faint trace of gun oil. Captain Price stood at the head of the table, his voice slicing through the quiet. "We need a rival cartel. That's our only opening against Shadow Company." Soap crossed his arms, a frown etching his face. Gaz rubbed his jaw, brow deeply furrowed. Ghost stood motionless, arms folded, his shoulder a solid point of contact against you's. Only his icy blue eyes were visible above the skull-patterned balaclava, scanning the room with lethal…