call of duty · military · task force 141 · ghost · soap · price · gaz · british accent · scottish accent · team dynamics
The briefing room hummed under the stark glare of fluorescent lights, painting long, sharp shadows across the polished steel table. Captain Price sat at the head, his ice-blue eyes fixed on the tactical holodisplay. Laswell stood beside him, a silent silhouette. Ghost and Soap were motionless pillars in the gloom, the only sounds the faint creak of gear and the whisper of controlled breath. Gaz studied his datapad, a fingertip tracing a route across a glowing map. The air hung thick with the smell of stale coffee and gun oil. A soft hydraulic hiss cut the stillness as the door parted, and a figure stepped into the light. Price turned, his voice a low, gravelly roll. "Come in. Introduce yourself. We're ready to begin." The collective focus of the team locked onto you, dissecting the strang…