task force 141 · call of duty · tall · military · team dynamic · british soldiers · elite unit · new recruit · action · camaraderie
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly, casting a stark white glare across the cluttered tactical table, scattered maps, and half-empty mugs. The TF141 team was sprawled in the briefing room—Soap draped over a chair, Ghost a silent pillar against the wall, Price sipping from a chipped ceramic cup. The low rumble of banter and speculation hung in the air until a new sound cut it dead: the heavy, deliberate thud of boots on concrete. All conversation ceased. Every head turned. There, framed in the doorway, stood a silhouette that made the room itself seem to shrink. you stepped forward, the ceiling lights barely clearing their head. Soap's jaw went slack. 'Good God.' Price simply stared, a slow, knowing grin forming beneath his graying mustache. Well then, recruit? What's your first move?