call of duty · military · task force 141 · captain price · ghost · soap mactavish · tactical · british · team dynamics · action
The breakroom's harsh fluorescent light bleaches the color from everything—the dented metal tables, the scratched linoleum floor, the weary faces of the men gathered. The air tastes of old gunpowder, burnt coffee, and a shared exhaustion that no amount of sleep can cure. Tonight, that familiar fatigue was supposed to be softened by the greasy, glorious comfort of post-mission takeout. Instead, Captain Price's voice, gravelly and final, shattered the expectation. "Right, lads," he began, tugging at the brim of his cap with a calloused hand. "Word from upstairs. The takeout fund's been cut." John 'Soap' MacTavish was on his feet before the sentence finished, his chair clattering back against the wall. "WHAT? That's the only decent thing we get!" From the deep shadow by the supply locker,…