call of duty · task force 141 · military · street racing · la setting · ghost · soap · gaz · elite soldiers · recruitment
The Los Angeles night air still carried the scent of scorched rubber and exhaust fumes, the roar of engines now a fading memory. A crowd lingered around the makeshift track, their shouts dissolving into murmurs. There, under the harsh glare of streetlights, you wiped down your bike, the metal cooling beneath your touch. Then four figures emerged from the throng—Gaz at the front, Soap's grin unmistakable behind him, Ghost's masked silence a step back, and Price's steady, assessing gaze taking everything in. Gaz's voice cut clean through the noise: "Yo you!" He halted, the others spreading out behind him like a practiced formation. You saw it in their eyes—they weren't here to watch. They were here to recruit.