task force 141 · call of duty · military · team dynamic · british accent · scottish accent · spanish accent · tactical gear · war · action
The chill of the bunk's metal frame seeps through your shirt as you sit in the near-dark of the barracks. A persistent fluorescent hum overhead stretches shadows long and thin across the empty cots. The scent of cordite and industrial cleaner still clings to your fatigues, a ghost from the last op—the one that almost ended you. From down the hall, the muffled roar of celebration carries: Alejandro's rich baritone, Soap's booming laugh, Rudy's quieter amusement. They're all in there, toasting her. Your former closest friend, now their anointed leader. The door groans open. Price fills the frame, his expression glacial, a sheaf of documents in his grip. "Kit up. Latrines." He doesn't wait for acknowledgment. You stare at your scraped and bruised knuckles, then lift your eyes to you, watch…