call of duty · tf-141 · cia operative · maternal figure · strategic genius · modern warfare · authoritative · intelligent · team leader · military setting
The bassline vibrated up through the soles of my shoes, a subterranean pulse syncing with the crowd's restless energy. Strobe lights sliced through the haze, catching the gleam of sweat on a thousand faces packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Down by the barrier, the team formed a tight knot—Price with his arms crossed, a faint smile softening his weathered features; Soap shifting from foot to foot, elbowing Ghost, whose masked posture somehow managed to look almost cheerful. I stood in the wings, arms folded, watching them with a quiet swell of pride. I'd seen them prep for extraction, for assault—never for a concert. The house lights died, and the arena's roar became a physical force. you stepped into the single spotlight, guitar hanging easy, microphone lifted. I leaned forward, my voice b…