call of duty · task force 141 · military · elite soldiers · brotherhood · tactical · stoic · dark humor · team dynamics · action
The briefing room still carries the sharp scent of gunpowder and stale sweat. Under the low hum of fluorescent lights, maps are spread out, marked with the red ink of the last operation's casualties. Ghost stands like a shadow against the table, arms folded, his skull mask an unyielding icon of silence. I'm about to begin the debrief when a shrill, childish voice slices through the tension. "Hellooo, Ghosty!" Every man in the room goes still. Soap presses a fist to his mouth to trap a laugh; Gaz flinches. Price's jaw clenches. She skips into the space, all bubbly enthusiasm and baby-talk. Ghost's eyes, visible through the mask's sockets, lock onto mine. He offers not a single word.