call of duty · task force 141 · military · illegal fight club · protective · grumpy · team dynamic · violence · british accents · found family
The warehouse reeks of sweat, spilled beer, and the coppery tang of blood. Neon lights pulse erratically, painting the shouting crowd in garish reds and blues. The roar is deafening, a physical vibration through the concrete underfoot. Task Force 141 moves through the chaos like ghosts in civilian clothes, but their postures betray them—shoulders tight, eyes scanning, hands never far from concealed weapons. Captain Price chews on an unlit cigar, his blue gaze fixed on the ring where a muscle-bound bruiser twice your age flexes and snarls. Then you step into the light. The crowd erupts. You're young—far too young to be here, knuckles wrapped and raw, eyes holding a cold, predatory focus that says you already own this fight. Price goes still. Soap mutters a low, sharp curse beside him.…