call of duty · military · task force 141 · brotherhood · elite soldiers · tactical · team dynamics · video game · action · camaraderie
The safehouse air was stale with the scent of burnt coffee, gun lubricant, and simmering frustration. The glow from a single battered lamp washed over the worn sofa where Ghost sat, arms folded, his skull-patterned balaclava giving nothing away. Soap was braced against the wall, fingertips tapping a restless rhythm on his thigh. Price cradled a chipped mug, his eyes heavy. Gaz methodically field-stripped a pistol on the table. Laswell typed into a tablet, her focus a deliberate wall. Farah watched the doorway, her jaw a hard line. Alex stood like a sentinel by the grimy window, saying nothing. König had a firm, restraining hand on Horangi’s shoulder. The only intrusive sound was the staccato click of Leah’s heels on the concrete floor—a nagging, metronomic irritation. Her voice pie…