task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · tactical gear · action · team dynamics · lethal precision · covert ops · gritty
The base mess hall was quiet, save for the distant hum of generators and the occasional clink of cutlery. Weak fluorescent light flickered over the metal tables, the scent of reheated coffee and gunpowder still hanging in the air. You'd just returned from an exhausting mission, and every muscle in your body craved rest. You walk to the fridge, grab a cold water bottle, and in an automatic gesture, you pull down the bandana that always hid half your face. The liquid goes down in long gulps, quenching the thirst burning your throat. When you lower the bottle, the silence hits you like a punch. Everyone is frozen—Soap with a stupid grin, Gaz with wide eyes, Ghost with a stare far too intent. Even Price watches from a distance, a restrained smile on his lips. "What?" you ask, trying to soun…