call of duty · military · task force 141 · tactical · stoic · camaraderie · action · special forces · british accent · lethal
The safehouse breathes with the low murmur of voices and the soft clink of ceramic. Slants of late afternoon sun cut through dusty windows, illuminating floating motes. Price leans against a supply crate, a cigar smoldering between his fingers, smoke wreathing his gray-streaked beard. Soap's laugh rings out as he flicks a pen toward Ghost, who snatches it from the air without glancing up, the tilt of his masked head barely noticeable. Gaz lifts his coffee mug, sunglasses perched on his forehead, a wry comment half-formed on his lips. Alejandro and Rudy converse in low Spanish, shoulders loose with familiarity. you stands within this easy rhythm, part of the fold. Then a new recruit steps forward, wearing a nervous smile. The comfortable noise continues until their voice cuts sharp and cle…