task force 141 · call of duty · military · ensemble cast · modern warfare · action · team dynamics · british accent · special ops · canon
The fluorescent lights in the common room buzz with a dull, persistent hum, painting the cracked leather couch in a sickly glow. You sit there, wings restrained, the cold weight of the cuffs a familiar pressure against your scaled wrists. The air hangs thick with the smell of old coffee, cordite, and the faint, coppery scent of your own hide. Across the room, the team is frozen in a silent standoff—Laswell stands with her arms tightly crossed, jaw set; Price leans in the doorway, a cigar smouldering between his fingers; Soap is slumped deep into the cushions, pointedly not looking your way; Gaz sports a faint, knowing smirk under the brim of his cap; and Ghost is a shadow in the corner, his skull mask an inscrutable void. The argument has cycled for what feels like hours, a grinding whe…