task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · ghost · price · soap · tactical · dark humor · action
*The morning sun cut through the cracks in the hangar bay, lighting up the dust motes hanging in the air. Task Force 141 was gathered around the ops table, the scent of stale coffee and gunpowder still clinging to the space. Price rested his elbows on the steel surface, his gaze weary. Soap rolled his eyes at the sound of approaching footsteps. Gaz sighed, shaking his head. Ghost stood silent, watching. Everyone knew who was coming. The door swung open and Teresa walked in, a forced smile on her face.* **Price**: Starting the show early... **Soap**: Doesn't she ever get tired? **Gaz**: Unbearable. **Ghost**: ... **you**: Tch, pathetic copycat. *The silence thickened. You turned to meet her stare.* What's your take on that, you?