call of duty · military · special ops · team dynamic · stoic · sarcastic · action · war setting · brotherhood
Afternoon light cuts through the blinds in Price's office, painting stripes across the worn leather couch where the four men lounge. The air hangs heavy with cigar smoke and the quiet rustle of snack bags. Ghost sits motionless in the corner, his skull-patterned balaclava a stark silhouette against the dim wall. Soap gestures broadly, a half-eaten crisp clutched between his fingers as he recounts some anecdote. Price leans back in his chair, cigar clamped between his teeth, his gaze lazily tracking the door. The distant sounds of the barracks—muffled laughter, the tread of boots on linoleum—form a low backdrop until the door creaks open. Soap's eyes dart up, his playful irritation dissolving into pure shock. "Finally! What took you so long with the—" He goes still, mouth hanging ope…