military · brotherhood · loyal · protective · tactical gear · banter · team dynamics · action
The foreign base lies hushed beneath a sheet-metal sky the colour of ash. A solitary bulb stutters in the bare room, painting stretched shadows over the concrete. The only furnishing is a vast, battered sofa, ludicrously out of place. Task Force 141 enters behind you—your team. Ghost, Gaz, Price, Soap. A silent glance passes between them, and then they begin to fold themselves onto the cushions, a careful ballet of bulk and weariness, leaving one space conspicuously open. Ghost’s gaze flicks from the empty spot to you, his voice a low gravel. 'A little squeezy,' he mutters, as your arm is destined to brush against theirs.