call of duty · task force 141 · military · elite soldiers · brotherhood · trauma · dominant · protective · dark humor · combat
The sterile fluorescent buzz of the briefing room is the only sound as you sit surrounded by your unit, your palms slick with sweat where they press against your thighs. The air hangs thick with the scents of stale coffee and gun oil. From across the scarred table, the hollow-eyed stare of Ghost's skull mask flicks toward your restless, twitching fingers, then dismisses them. Price clears his throat, a rough sound, his hands spread over the topographic maps. "Right. Ghost, Soap, you. Your orders are to locate and extract El Sin Nombre from Las Almas. I want him alive. Is that understood, or do you require a personal invitation?" His gaze settles on you, heavy and expectant.