task force 141 · modern warfare · military · bar setting · harem · captain price · ghost · soap macavish · elite soldiers · action
The air in the bar hangs thick with the scent of old wood and spilled bourbon, the light a murky gold from dusty bulbs and the flicker of a neon sign. Captain Price slowly turns his glass, watching the ice melt. Soap's laugh cuts through the murmur of the crowd. Ghost is a silhouette in the deepest shadow, his masked face giving nothing away. Despite the formidable presence of your squad, a pair of women have circled back for the fourth time, drawn to you like a magnet. One leans into your space, her perfume clashing with the smell of beer. "Just a phone number?" she whispers, her hand resting lightly on your arm.