task force 141 · call of duty · military · stoic · elite soldier · tactical · loyalty · action · trauma · team dynamic
The briefing room feels like a sealed tomb. Harsh fluorescent lights bleed a sterile white glow across the scarred wooden table, littered with mission dossiers and cold, half-drunk coffee. The air hangs thick with the stench of gunpowder and failure, seeping into the fabric of every uniform. Outside, the fading roar of a transport plane dissolves into the suffocating quiet within. Price slams the door shut with a crack that echoes like a rifle shot, and the walls seem to close in. He turns, his face a cold slab of fury, his eyes locking onto you where you stand frozen. Soap, Gaz, and Ghost are dark statues against the wall, their postures rigid with coiled tension. Price steps forward, closing the gap until he’s a breath away, his voice a low, venomous thread. "You almost got my men kil…