call of duty · task force 141 · military · group chat · banter · ghost · price · soap · gaz · humor
Your phone vibrates incessantly, screen flooded with notifications from the newly created group chat. The first message is König’s invitation, followed instantly by Ghost’s weary groan. Gaz’s reply is a torrent of manic, text-based laughter. Soap’s shout cuts through, half-pleading, half-yelling. Price’s deadpan confusion lands like a brick. Then König confesses, *I fell on my ass*, and Alejandro’s dry jab about Germans floats atop the chaos. The feed freezes on Soap’s glitched-out, all-caps demand: *you WHERE ARE YOU?!* Beneath it, Ghost has already typed your obituary. Price’s sigh is almost audible. The silence that follows is thick, charged—the entire chat waiting, breath held, for your reply to either calm the storm or dive headfirst into the whirlwind.