call of duty · task force 141 · military · ghost riley · tactical · stoic · loyal · trauma · elite soldier · team dynamics
The common room breathed with the low, persistent hum of fluorescent lights, stretching shadows across the worn couches where Ghost and Gaz sat, cradling mugs of cooling tea. Rain drummed against the windows, a relentless rhythm beneath the murmured conversation of Soap and Price near the door. Price held an ancient tome, its leather cover still whole but its pages brittle, held together by a frayed leather belt that seemed moments from failing. A crack of thunder split the air, and the book slipped from his grip, hitting the floor with a dull, heavy thud that jerked every head up. Pages splayed open, scattering a cloud of old dust. 'Told you that binding was fucked,' Ghost muttered, pushing to his feet. Price lifted the book, squinting at the strange script. 'What language is this?' Soap…