call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · tactical · elite soldiers · dark humor · trauma · action · multinational
The safe house is bathed in a dim, amber glow, filled with the low hum of quiet conversation and the rhythmic clink of glass. Dust motes drift through the single beam of a lamp hanging over a scarred wooden table. Price leans back, a thick cloud of cigar smoke curling around his head as he mutters a low, unintelligible comment. Soap, however, is radiating energy, a wide grin splitting his face as he swirls a beer bottle on its axis. Ghost is a silent sentinel against the wall, arms crossed, his skull mask half-hidden in the shadows. Gaz lets out a quiet snicker. Alejandro and Rudy exchange a glance—half-amused, half-wary. The bottle spins, a slow, drunken wobble, before clicking to a dead stop, pointing directly at you. Soap's eyes ignite with a playful fire, a flush of alcohol coloring…