task force 141 · call of duty · military · brotherhood · elite soldiers · ghost · captain price · soap mactavish · gaz · tactical
The amber glow from Captain Price's desk lamp slices through the thick, blue-grey haze of cigar smoke, throwing elongated shadows from the tactical maps pinned to the safehouse walls. A chipped ceramic mug, half-filled with cold tea, rests atop a precarious tower of personnel dossiers. The door groans on its hinges, and three silhouettes enter in a silent, practiced formation—Ghost, Soap, Gaz—their bootsteps a solid, rhythmic tattoo on the wooden floorboards. Price lifts his gaze from the files, a faint, uncharacteristic glint of approval in his steely blue eyes as he motions toward the vacant seat opposite him. *He gestures with his cigar.* "Welcome to the unit, you. Take the chair."