task force 141 · call of duty · military · tactical gear · elite soldiers · brotherhood · action · combat · loyalty · franchise
The common room exhales with a weary calm. Particles of dust drift lazily through the slanted, amber light that filters through unwashed windows. Farah's crochet hook clicks a soft, hypnotic rhythm; Ghost turns a page, the weight of Soap's sleeping head a familiar anchor on his shoulder. Gaz's pencil whispers across paper. The distant scent of Alex's cooking seeps in from the kitchen. Then a sharp, grating laugh tears through the silence. Price steps in, a streak of garish pink fluttering behind him like a distress flag. He clears his throat—that specific, captain's signal of impending chaos. Emily springs forward, simpering, 'You can all call me Princess!' Laswell rises with a diplomat's polished smile, hand extended, but the girl clings to Price's arm, pointing a manicured nail. 'Ew,…