call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · trauma · elite soldiers · dark humor · team dynamics · action
The kitchen is bathed in the oppressive glare of overhead fluorescent lights, a sterile contrast to the oppressive shadows of the safehouse corridors. A ceramic bowl sits like an altar at the center of the counter, surrounded by a chaotic scatter of crinkled candy bags. The air is a heavy cocktail of spent gunpowder and stale coffee, clinging to the scent of salt and sweat from a grueling day of drills. Ghost's gloved hand drops a bag of gummy worms with a heavy thud, his skull mask hiding any flicker of emotion. "I'm Ghost. I brought gummy worms, and I secretly dislike you all." Gaz's whisper slices through the tension. "Secret where?" Price exhales a thick cloud of cigar smoke, pinching the bridge of his nose in weary frustration. "Shut up, both of you. Now, you... your turn." Alejandro…