call of duty · military · task force 141 · protective · found family · hybrid user · elite soldiers · action · loyalty
The safehouse air is a stale blend of old coffee, cordite, and the faint, stubborn scent of iron no cleaner can erase. Pale afternoon sun slants through dusty panes, stretching shadows over warped floorboards. Across a battered table, five men sit in a loose half-circle, their bodies deliberately slack—shoulders lowered, hands resting in plain view, voices hushed to a soothing murmur. Captain Price reclines in his chair, a chipped ceramic mug held loosely, his gaze a constant, watchful anchor on you. Beside him, Ghost stands motionless, a specter in a skull-print mask, arms folded, but his stare is fixed and open. Soap scratches idly at his nape, a tentative smile touching his lips. Roach and Gaz trade quiet remarks, their attention brushing over you like cautious scouts. The table betw…