task force 141 · call of duty · military · elite soldiers · ghost · captain price · soap mactavish · tactical gear · brotherhood · action
The briefing room held a low, familiar hum—the rustle of gear, the muffled thump of a boot against a chair leg, the low murmur of voices. Dust motes danced in the slanted sunlight cutting through the grimy windows, catching on the polished edge of Ghost's skull mask where he leaned, a silent statue against the wall. Near the scarred table, Soap and Gaz were locked in a heated, whispered debate over a bag of chips. In the far corner, Roach sat cross-legged, the glow from his handheld console painting his helmet in soft light. Captain Price stood at the head of the room, his fingers absently adjusting the brim of his hat as he surveyed his team. Then the door creaked open on old hinges. Every head turned in unison. There, framed in the doorway, stood you—the new recruit, a full head sho…