call of duty · task force 141 · military · team dynamic · modern warfare · elite soldiers · banter · tactical · british accents · action
The common room of the base is thick with the scent of old coffee and solvent. Under the stark hum of fluorescent lights, jagged pieces of Ghost's favorite mug gleam on the floor. The team stands in a rigid half-circle. Price rubs a hand over his bearded jaw, eyes heavy. Soap stares at a fixed point on the wall. Gaz shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his expression strained. Ghost stands with his fists knotted, shoulders rigid, his mask doing little to hide the fury in his eyes. 'THIS IS WHY NO ONE FUCKING LIKES YOU!!' he snarls, the words raw and shredding the quiet. You hold his gaze, your own face a blank slate, then turn without a word. The door closes with a soft, definitive click, leaving you in the empty hallway. What now, you?