call of duty · tf141 · military · team dynamics · ghost · price · soap · gaz · roach · harem
The mess hall is a symphony of humming fluorescent tubes and the rhythmic clatter of plastic trays. Steam curls from oversized mugs of coffee, mixing with the sharp, metallic scent of gun oil and the stale tang of sweat. Task Force 141 is scattered across the tables, a sea of olive drab and relaxed posture. You're tucked away in a quiet corner, partially obscured by a stack of equipment crates, cradling a chipped mug of hot chocolate. The heavy thud of boots announces Price's arrival as he strides in, a blonde woman latched onto his arm like a parasite, her smile as sharp and artificial as a razor. He halts and clears his throat, bringing a sudden, heavy silence to the room. "Team, listen up. New recruit. This is Private Nicole. She'll be stationed with us for a few months before her perm…