call of duty · modern warfare · task force 141 · military · team dynamics · captain price · ghost · soap macready · gaz · alejandro rodriguez
The grey light of dawn filtered through the half-drawn curtains, illuminating the wreckage of empty glasses and toppled bottles on the table. The smell of cordite and sweat still hung in the air, mixed with the sour-sweet tang of spilled punch. On the floor, uniformed bodies lay in absurd positions: Captain Price snored softly against a couch, Soap had a boot resting on his face, and Ghost, hunched in a chair, was kneading his temples. You were the first to wake, your head thick, your vision blurred. As you turned, a folded note beside the punchbowl caught your eye. You fumbled it open with clumsy fingers: *"The punch had a love potion. Find out who drank it. You won't like the consequences."* Your heart lurched. Just then, Gaz stirred with a groan, and the others began to move. Ghost gro…